


The Perils of Knowing

by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying



Series: Collaborations [73]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Beast, Alternate Universe - No Fillory, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Abuse, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Lack of Communication, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Relationship(s), Post Brakebills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 04:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21238418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProofOfConcept/pseuds/ProofOfConcept, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: "So Julia," Eliot says, handing Quentin his second margarita, "when is it you start at the library?""Wednesday of next week," Julia answers, sipping her own margarita from her place on the loveseat, next to Margo - Eliot and Quentin have been relegated to the couch. "Mr Colton wanted to get started on my apprenticeship as soon as he got back from India, let me get used to the way he runs things before the next semester starts.""We'll have to start behaving on school nights, then," Eliot sighs. "What about you, Q?""Columbia doesn't start until late August, but I'll need to start going in in July for orientation and department meetings," Quentin answers. "And I'll need to work on lesson plans all summer."Eliot rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his own margarita. "Ugh. Why did you both have to get such grown-up jobs?"





	The Perils of Knowing

”Hey!” Julia barks, startling Quentin and nearly giving the mover she’s yelling at a heart attack. “Careful with that box, it’s got all my family heirlooms, and if _anything_ gets broken, I’m coming after your ass!”

Quentin hides his smile behind the list he’s consulting; that box doesn’t have ‘family heirlooms,’ it has a metric _shitload_ of magic items, and Julia coming for that poor man is going to be the least of his worries if he breaks something. “He’s a professional, Jules,” he calls over his shoulder, ignoring her scoff and giving the mover an encouraging smile. “He’s got this.”

Julia subsides into grumbling, disappearing into the room of their three-bedroom, two-bath apartment that has been designated as an office to continue fussing with the books that she had personally moved. Quentin gives the mover instructions as to where to put the box on his dolly before he retreats to the kitchen, where Eliot has taken over. “Where’s Margo?” he asks, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

"She's taken to bossing the other movers around as well," Eliot answers, barely looking up from the box of kitchenware he's unpacking. "The layout of your kitchen is ridiculous, by the way. Ours is far superior. What a stupid place to put the sink."

”Well, you don’t have any spare bedrooms, and we didn’t actually build this place, so it’s not my fault,” Quentin laughs. “Besides, you know that Jules and I don’t do near as much cooking as you do.”

"That's actually a good thing," Eliot says. "You can't cook for shit." He straightens up with a white box in his hands, and brandishes it at Quentin. "Since when do you own a blender?"

”That was Jules’s idea,” Quentin says, raising his hands. “Something about needing to make sure we eat healthy now that we’ve graduated.”

Eliot snorts. "All I see is the frozen cocktail opportunities," he says. "This is my blender now. Put a stick of celery anywhere near it and I'll end you."

”_Jules’s_ idea, El,” Quentin repeats, rolling his eyes with a fond smile. “You can break it in with cocktails this evening after the movers are gone and everything’s set up.”

Eliot's grin is little more than a sharp flash of teeth. "Excellent," he says. "Daddy's making margaritas."

* * *

"So Julia," Eliot says, handing Quentin his second margarita, "when is it you start at the library?"

"Wednesday of next week," Julia answers, sipping her own margarita from her place on the loveseat, next to Margo - Eliot and Quentin have been relegated to the couch. "Mr Colton wanted to get started on my apprenticeship as soon as he got back from India, let me get used to the way he runs things before the next semester starts."

"We'll have to start behaving on school nights, then," Eliot sighs. "What about you, Q?"

"Columbia doesn't start until late August, but I'll need to start going in in July for orientation and department meetings," Quentin answers. "And I'll need to work on lesson plans all summer."

Eliot rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his own margarita. "Ugh. Why did you both have to get such grown-up jobs?"

"Because we have grown up bills to pay," Julia laughs. "And because it's something we're interested in. You two were interested in running a magic bar, we're interested in being librarians and English professors."

"At least we're _fun_," Margo drawls, well past tipsy by now. "And we can _have_ fun. Who gives a fuck if we turn up to work hungover to hell and back on a Thursday? No one, because we own a _bar_."

Eliot tips his glass towards Margo. "Exactly."

”I think it’s more because you _own_ a bar,” Quentin says dryly, nudging Eliot with his elbow. “Your employees aren’t going to give their boss shit. Besides, I’m literally being paid to write, I think that’s pretty fun.”

"It is," Eliot allows. "I can't wait to see what hijinks I get up to next. Am I going to have sex with someone dashingly handsome?"

"You always ask that," Quentin laughs. "And you always get the same answer."

Eliot pouts. "But I don't want to wait until you've finished the next chapter."

Quentin laughs. “Even _Julia_ has to wait, El. You don’t get special treatment,” he says, patting Eliot’s leg. “You’d need to do something _awfully_ special for me to give you an earlier look.”

"Don't go giving him ideas, Baby Q," Margo says. "You don't want to find out just how persuasive he can be."

Quentin laughs outright at that. "That sounds like a challenge, Margo - but I'm not drunk enough to take it on."

Eliot sighs and sinks back into the couch. As an afterthought, he also kicks his legs up so he can rest them across Quentin's lap. "Pity."

Quentin pats Eliot's knee in a show of comfort. "I'm sure some day she'll catch me in the right state of drunkenness," he says consolingly. 

"There'll be a lot of opportunities for that now," Eliot says wisely.

"You're assuming we'll have more time to spend at the bar," Julia laughs.

"Well, _I_ probably will, at least over the summer," Quentin says thoughtfully. "How's it doing? Business still going strong?"

"Like you even have to ask," Eliot scoffs. "Business is booming, both magical and not. The Manhattan Tut is on fire right now. Sometimes literally."

Quentin's expression goes pinched. "I hope it's _literally _on fire because you planned it that way," he says. "Magic can only fix things so many times."

Margo rolls her eyes. "Of course we planned it. Only you would set fire to your own business by accident."

"I would _not!_" Quentin protests, only to be drowned out by Julia's cackle.

"You absolutely _would!_" she counters. "Remember that time in our junior year of high school, when our economics professor dragged us out to help the golf team sell fried chicken?"

Quentin blanches. "Don't you fucking dare, Jules."

"Oooh." Margo leans forward. "Is there a story here?"

"_No, _there absolutely is n--" 

"_Oh, _yes there absolutely _is,_" Julia says, leaning forward in her seat, expression gleeful. "Would you like to hear it?"

* * *

Quentin jumps when Eliot rattles through the door at the back of the bar, carrying a crate of glasses fresh from the dishwasher. He sets them down on the bar top a little further down from Quentin and starts putting them away. "How's it coming?" he asks lightly. "Have I gotten laid yet? Have you?"

Quentin rolls his eyes, smile indulgent as he turns back to his laptop. "Yes and no," he answers. "You know what _you _were like at the Cottage parties, so I'm sure you can guess how that's going for you in this."

Eliot grins. "Excellent," he says. "At least one version of me is getting some."

Quentin smiles indulgently, although the expression slips from his face a moment later. "I actually wanted to ask you something," he says. "About a scene I'm getting ready to write."

"Oh?" Eliot asks, barely looking over. "Do you need to me to get into a suggestive pose on top of the bar for reference?"

Quentin barks out a laugh, shaking his head. "No, I already know what just about _every_ suggestive pose looks like on you. I, uh. I actually wanted to ask your thoughts on using the whole... Mike... thing, for Hale."

Eliot almost drops the wine glass he's trying to hang in the rack above the bar. He turns to Quentin sharply. "Excuse me?"

Quentin nudges his laptop away, turning to face Eliot fully. "I won't, if you say no," he starts with, "because I know how awful that whole thing was for you. But I was thinking of using a similar situation to put Hale in a... Well, in a bad mindset for when the group finally goes after the Beast."

Eliot's jaw twitches. "What did you have in mind?" he asks.

"I was thinking about having the Beast possess him - maybe I'll call him Jesse. But you know the Beast has been focused on Jason, and needs to find a way to get closer to him," Quentin explains. "And Jason, Summer, and Hale have already gotten close. If the Beast uses Jesse's body to get close while Jason is away from campus, he could form a relationship with Hale as an excuse to stay nearby until Jason gets back. Then, it's a matter of waiting for the right moment to attack Jason, which will obviously fail, but when Hale goes to see Jesse after he's been captured, he would find Jesse attacking Dean Worthy, and he'll have already killed Esme. Hale would need to kill Jesse to get rid of the Beast and protect his friends."

That piques Eliot's interest. "You mean I'll get to kill Mike?"

"You'll get to kill the body the Beast is inhabiting," Quentin says. "Which is part of what fucks Hale up; he killed an innocent person who was just possessed in order to delay the Beast's plans, but the Beast also used him to get close to Jason."

"And what happens after?" Eliot asks.

”Hale spirals, badly,” Quentin answers. “Like, drugs, alcohol - even bottling his emotions, although that is also used by Jason and Summer in an attempt to learn to master battle magic, but Hale abuses it outside of their training, as well.”

"So, pretty much everything I did post-break up," Eliot surmises. He blows out a breath. "Jeez, Q."

"Taken to the next level, but... Yeah." Quentin shifts in his seat, leans forward to lay his hand over Eliot's on the bar. "I meant what I said, I'll figure out another way to do things if you aren't comfortable with me writing it like that. I think it could be a good narrative, but I know it was awful for you to live through, and if you don't want it written, I won't write it."

Eliot sighs. "No," he says, "it's fine. Who am I to get in the way of the massive success that will be your debut novel?"

"You're my best friend, El," Quentin says, earnest and sincere as he squeezes Eliot's hand. "Your comfort is more important than just about anything else, including a storyline in a book that I can change."

"You're _my_ best friend," Eliot counters, "after Bambi. I love and support you. Keep the storyline, I swear it's okay."

Quentin beams. "Thank you, El. If you change your mind..."

"I'll let you know." Eliot squeezes Quentin's hand one last time before releasing him and turning back to the glassware. "Just, let me read the first draft when you've got it, okay?"

"Of course," Quentin promises. "Do you need any help back there?"

"I'm good," Eliot says with a smile. "Besides, you're kind of propping up the bar, there. Get back to work."

* * *

"Quentin," Eliot says, as soon as Quentin answers the door. He flounces into the apartment without waiting for an invitation and peels off his jacket. "Thank god you're home. I just walked in on Margo getting eaten out on our new couch and I just. Cannot."

Quentin lifts an eyebrow, shutting the door behind Eliot. "So? You've seen her having sex before. Hell, you've had sex with the same guy she's fucked _at the same time _before."

"Of course I have," Eliot says, leading the way into the kitchen. "I know Margo's vagina like the back of my hand, despite the fact that I've never actually been in it. That's not the issue here."

Quentin follows, a bemused smile on his face. "Is the problem the fact that she's having sex on your new couch?"

"Yes," Eliot says, fiercely. "Do you know how much that couch cost? She does!"

"Did... you expect her _not _to have sex on it at the first opportunity?" Quentin asks, laughing. "This is Margo we're talking about."

"It just would have been nice if she'd had a little respect," Eliot huffs. "Whatever, I'm over it. I'm also going to hide out here for a bit. What are you drinking?"

"Again, this is _Margo _we're talking about," Quentin says, amused. "And I'm drinking Coke and tequila, starting to work on lesson plans so I'm taking it slow." 

Eliot raises an eyebrow. "You're taking it slow with tequila?" he asks. "Fine. I guess I'm making margaritas again. My epic love affair with your blender continues."

"I'm _drinking _it slowly," Quentin says primly, turning back to the living room and his papers spread over the coffee table, along with his laptop. "Go reunite with your pining blender, El."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Will Julia be joining us? How much should I make?"

"She's staying late tonight; Colton brought back a shit ton of new books, apparently, and they need to be catalogued. Which means the two of them are going to spend all night _reading _the books instead of shelving them."

Eliot grins. "More for us, then."

Quentin and Eliot pass the time with good drinks and easy conversations, catching up on everything that's happened over the past few days. They start out with Eliot on the couch, lounging like the dramatic gay man that he is, and Quentin on the loveseat, working on his lesson plan. Quentin is finished with it around the same time he finishes his second margarita, and when Eliot returns from the kitchen with their third round, Quentin doesn't hesitate before taking his drink with one hand and Eliot's wrist in his other, tugging until Eliot is seated next to him. "You were too far away," he complains when Eliot looks at him questioningly. "Besides, I'm done with my laptop for the night, and since Jules won't be back until late, you're responsible for fulfilling my physical affection needs now."

Eliot just laughs. "Fine," he says. "I guess Margo's busy tonight, so you can do the same for me."

"Like I'd ever complain about a chance to cuddle with my best friend," Quentin says, grinning. "C'mere. What happened with the drunk guy who tried to harass Margo in the back room?"

Eliot grins and settles himself against Quentin's side. "Not much," he admits, "at least not right away. She must have been feeling particularly charitable, because she didn't freeze his balls off there and then. But he won't be able to get hard for the next couple of months, so."

Quentin snickers, taking a sip of his margarita. "Wonder if he'll connect the dots," he muses. "Or if he was too drunk to remember what happened."

"Margo has a certain flare when it comes to these things," Eliot tells him. "He'll work it out, but he won't dare to come back."

"Good," Quentin says decisively. "You don't need shitheads like that. Did you ever take Josh up on his magic booze and drugs offer?"

"Mm." Eliot waves a hand. "We've had him expand our cocktail menu a little, but that's as far as it goes. Drugs and business don't mix, even when there's magic involved."

"Smart," Quentin hums, reaching up with his free hand to bury his fingers in Eliot's hair, nails scritching lightly against his scalp before he shifts to running his fingers through Eliot's hair. 

Eliot makes a pleased sound and slides down the couch a little so that Quentin can reach better. "Fuck," he sighs. "If you ever wanted me to leave, you're SOL now."

Quentin laughs quietly, doesn't resist the urge to turn his head and press an easy kiss to Eliot's temple. "Well, I do have Netflix and Prime, so... I think I can deal with you sticking around for a while yet."

Eliot smiles and raises his glass to his lips. "Guess we're having a sleepover, then."

* * *

For once, the noise and chaos of Manhattan Tut's back room is a welcome distraction. Quentin is exhausted, mentally if not physically, and he wants nothing more than good food, good booze, and maybe some good conversation if he can catch Margo or Eliot. He picks his way through the crowd, claiming one of the stools at the end of the bar, the wall on one side, an empty seat on the other. Eliot is behind the bar, and Quentin flags him down as soon as he's done with his current customer. "I need whatever is freshest out of the fryer and a daiquiri, stat," he says, almost desperate. 

Eliot raises an eyebrow. "That bad, huh?" he asks, already reaching for a glass. "There are definitely some fries on the go, and maybe some chicken - but you don't want that crap, Q. That's for the mundanes. Let me make you something decent."

"You would not believe the things I would willingly do to you for a burger right now," Quentin says fervently. 

Eliot chuckles. "Emergency burger?" he asks. "Or do you have the patience to let me make it good for you?"

Quentin hesitates. "Can I get both if I say 'please'?"

"Wow," Eliot says, "it really is that bad."

"I told you, the things I'm willing to do to and for you..." Quentin groans, drops his face into his hands. "I met with the department head today, and he is such a _pompous ass,_ holy Jesus."

"All right," Eliot soothes, sliding the requested daiquiri across the bar. "I'll put the order through to the kitchen and you can tell Daddy all about it."

"You're my favorite," Quentin says fervently, grabbing the drink with both hands. "I mean that, El, really."

"I know, darling," Eliot says, not even looking at Quentin anymore. He scribbles Quentin's order down quickly on a piece of paper, frowns at it, and then adds several other notes. Once he's satisfied, a few precise tuts has the paper folding itself up into a tiny airplane and zooming off toward the kitchen. Several people have approached the bar while they've been talking, but it seems that the two other bar staff have it under control, so Eliot leans toward Quentin and gives him a smile. "So, what did the mean department head say?"

"He started criticizing my book choices as soon as I said I was planning to include more women and people of color," Quentin complains, half of his drink already gone. "Asking if they were fucking 'academic' enough for the courses, like I was proposing to include goddamn _Goodnight, Moon _in the curriculum."

Eliot already has another glass in front of him, and is preparing a second daiquiri. "Well that's fucking dire," he deadpans. "You're not going to listen to him, right?"

"Of course I'm not listening to that dickhead," Quentin scoffs. "You wanna know what else he said, when I pointed out that the books I chose all dealt with multiple themes we needed to cover?" He straightens in his chair, pretends to straighten a tie, and says, in a deep, gruff tone, "'Of course, but they're not _classic. _If it's not broke, don't fix it.' I swear to fuck, if he weren't my literal boss - "

"Yeah," Eliot says, offering the second glass to Quentin, "can't relate." He grins. "I _am_ the asshole boss, here."

"At least you're pretty, though," Quentin points out. "Makes up for the 'asshole' part. This guy is just... _so _fucking white it's physically painful to look at him. Also he's so straight he doesn't even have a stick up his ass."

"Ugh." Eliot pulls a face. "Maybe he's in denial. No one is completely straight." He laughs. "Maybe he's being such an asshole because he thinks you're cute."

"If he hits on me, I'm going to curse him," Quentin says flatly. 

Eliot grins. "Can I watch?"

"Only if you provide an alibi saying it _wasn't _me," Quentin says, running a hand through his hair. "Seriously, I just... I'm looking forward to this, to teaching, but I'm not looking forward to dealing with Dr Bolyon. At least no one else in the department seems to like him very much."

"Is he a magician?" Eliot asks.

"_Yes,_" Quentin says on a heavy sigh. "Brakebills, class of fucking '88."

"Oh," Eliot says. "That make it worse, somehow."

"Right?" Quentin demands. "Like, if he were a mundane, okay. Fine, whatever. But he's a goddamned magician, he knows that fucking _magic _exists, and he's hung up on the stale white bread 'classics'?" Quentin huffs. "You see why I needed a drink and some really good food now."

Eliot smirks. "Does he know that he's literally paying you to write a book about a flaming bisexual and his band of merry queers?"

"Not yet, and I'm not telling him until it's going to the publisher," Quentin laughs. "Honestly I can't wait to see the look on his face when he realizes what, exactly, I'm writing. The rest of the department likes me so far, so I'm hoping to win everyone over so I can keep my job at the end of the year when this thing goes to print."

Eliot grins. "You won't have a problem there," he says. "You're completely loveable to everyone except middle-aged bigots."

Quentin laughs. "You have to say that," he says, a fond smile on his face as he reaches out, touches the back of Eliot's hand. "You're one of my best friends. But thanks."

Eliot gives him a sweet smile. "You're welcome," he says. "Finish that. Your burger will be ready soon, and then we'll find something to take your mind off of it."

Quentin grins, taking a sip of his daiquiri. "Yes, sir."

Eliot leaves Quentin to it once his food arrives, but he still keeps a watchful eye on him while he serves the other customers and makes sure he never runs dry. One of the other girls starts her shift right as Quentin is finishing his fries, so Eliot magics the plate back into the kitchen and makes his way over again. "Was that what you needed?" he asks.

"Yeah, it was," Quentin sighs, sipping the last bit of his latest drink slowly. "I think I'll hang around for a bit if you don't mind, though. Don't want to go back to the apartment just yet."

"Good," Eliot says. "Do you want another one, or are you drunk enough to dance yet?"

Quentin frowns. "Dance with who?"

Eliot rolls his eyes. "With me."

"Oh." Quentin considers Eliot for a moment, glances at the throng on the dance floor, then nods. "Sure."

Eliot beams at him, and rounds the bar in an instant. "Come on, then," he says, grasping Quentin's hands and pulling him to his feet. "They're playing our song."

Quentin laughs, letting Eliot drag him out into the crowd. “I’ve never heard this song before in my life.”

"Neither have I," Eliot says, grinning, as he gets his hands on Quentin's hips. "Come on, grind on me."

”Well, I suppose since you already fed me and gave me a drink,” Quentin teases, moving where Eliot pushes him, letting himself settle into the rhythm of the music and the crowd.

"That's it," Eliot croons, encouraging, as he guides Quentin's hips into something rolling and filthy. "Impress me, Q."

Quentin’s grin turns wicked, and he wraps an arm around Eliot’s waist, pressing them together from thigh to chest. “You sure you want to go down this road, Waugh?” he says, spine arching and hips rolling as he leans in, until he could take the lobe of Eliot’s ear in his teeth and _tug_ if he wanted to - if he dared. “Might just spoil you for anyone else.” He punctuates the sentence with a dirty roll of his hips, hand slipping down to just above Eliot’s ass, pulling them closer together. 

Eliot just lets it happen, lets their hips snap together with a soft gasp that is mostly swallowed by the music around them. His grin sharpens a little bit, a challenge in his eyes. "You think you can?" he asks. "Bring it, Coldwater."

Quentin laughs, low and throaty right in Eliot's ear, lets his lips brush against Eliot's neck as he pulls back and guides them into what's almost fully-clothed sex on the dancefloor. Each song passes unheeded except for the change in rhythm, and when Quentin feels Eliot's cock hard against his hip, he can't help the sharp inhale, the way he presses forward, relishes in Eliot's groan as their cocks brush together through their pants. 

Quentin's so caught up in the music and their rhythm he doesn't notice Margo approaching until she's already slid between them. "Hate to break up the party," she says with a laugh, though there's something in her eyes - but maybe it's just the lights. "But your rhythm is _awful,_ Q."

"It's not that bad," Eliot laughs, but he accepts Margo into their midst easily enough, winding his arms around her and pulling her close.

Thrown by Margo's interruption, Quentin loses his rhythm. He tries to regain it, but now that he isn't so caught up in Eliot, it's easy to realize just how _filthy _their dancing had been compared to everyone else. It puts Quentin off-balance, and the realization that Eliot is dancing almost exactly the same way with Margo makes the sensation worse. Quentin feels like he's far, far drunker than he actually is, like the rug's been yanked out from under him. He doesn't even make it another song before he's backing away, giving Eliot and Margo what he hopes isn't a shaky grin. "I should be heading home," he says, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the crowd. 

"All right," Eliot calls back, his attention straying from Margo only for a moment. "Come over tomorrow for hangover breakfast!"

Maybe the drinks are hitting him a bit late, now that he's not distracted, Quentin thinks as he waves an acknowledgement, weaving his way through the crowd. It certainly feels like he'll need that hangover breakfast. 

* * *

Quentin will never admit it, but he forgets all about Alice's visit until Julia goes to answer the door one Friday evening and returns to the living room with her in tow. He's sitting at the coffee table again, lesson plans and other paperwork all over the place, his hair tied in a messy bun at the back of his head - in other words, by no means prepared to see his ex girlfriend turned best friend. But she's a sight for sore eyes, anyway.

"Hey, Q," she says, before he has a chance to greet her. She adjusts her glasses a little and then, because she's Alice Quinn, she asks, "What, did you forget I was coming or something?"

"No," Quentin lies unconvincingly as he pushes himself to his feet so he can pull Alice in for a hug. "I've been really busy with lesson planning and getting ready for the start of the semester."

Alice laughs. "Well, you look good," she says, and pulls back to look around. "The whole place looks great. Is Eliot's and Margo's the same?"

"They have a lot more expensive furniture," Julia laughs, ducking into the kitchen. "And yet Eliot still insists on using _our _blender whenever he wants cocktails. Do you want anything to drink?"

"Um, just whatever you're having." Alice settles herself on the love seat instead of on the couch with Quentin, and wastes little time in curling her feet up underneath her and making herself at home. "I think Julia put my bags in her room. That's okay, right?"

"Absolutely," Quentin reassures her as Julia starts rummaging through the refrigerator. "So what've you been up to since the last time we talked? How's your research coming along?"

"Oh, so great," Alice enthuses. "You wouldn't believe the kinds of things I'm finding out. It seems like niffins are a real gap in our knowledge. We understand the concept of them, but we don't fully understand the how or the why." She hesitates, bites her lip. "I know I couldn't save Charlie, but I... I think I might be able to save someone else, someday."

"That's great," Quentin says, reaching over to lay his hand on her knee, squeezing lightly, "but make sure you're safe, yeah? Make sure the spell will work without making _you _a niffin, first."

Alice rolls her eyes. "Obviously. I'm nowhere near that stage yet. But I'll get there."

”Of course you will,” Julia says lightly, coming out of the kitchen with drinks for everyone. “You’re one of the most brilliant magicians of the century. How was England?”

"Beautiful," Alice tells her. "Wet. But beautiful. Everyone was weirdly obsessed with my accent."

Quentin laughs. “Really?”

"Really," Alice says. "They were all really friendly, though."

Quentin smiles. "Well, that's good," he says. "How was the magic scene? Did you meet Harry Potter?"

Alice laughs. "Actually," she says, "I did meet--" There's a sharp rapping on the door, and Alice cuts herself off, looking surprised. "Are you expecting anyone?"

"That's probably El," Quentin says, pushing himself to his feet and heading to the door. "I swear he's got our apartment bugged sometimes."

Sure enough, Eliot and Margo are on the other side of the door. "Quentin!" Eliot beams. "Did I hear the pitter-patter of a tiny blonde nerd?"

"Alice just arrived," Quentin confirms, opening the door and stepping aside for Eliot and Margo to come in. "Back from England, safe and sound."

"Perfect," Eliot says. "We brought wine."

"And I brought gin," Margo adds, pausing to give Quentin a kiss on the cheek before she follows Eliot into the apartment. "Just in case."

"You know we'll never turn down free booze," Julia calls as Quentin shuts the door behind Eliot and Margo. "Bring that in here, it can chill while we get dinner started."

"What were you planning?" Eliot asks as they reach the living room. "Hi Alice, lovely to see you."

Alice waves. "Hi guys."

"Spaghetti, with the sauce made from scratch," Julia answers. "Ah, Q - out." 

Quentin rolls his eyes, but he obediently steps back, off of the linoleum and back onto the carpet. "I wasn't going to _do _anything."

"No, but you know shit goes sideways whenever you're in here while I'm cooking," Julia laughs. "Better safe than sorry, when we've got five people to feed."

"I could take over if you like," Eliot says casually, glancing at Julia over his shoulder. "I can wrangle Q and cook at the same time."

Julia considers the offer for a moment. "Alright, if you're sure. I'm almost done prepping the sauce."

Eliot saunters over to her and surveys the ingredients on the counter. "Oh," he laughs, "you're really not. Go and sit down, open the wine. I've got this."

"I said it was _prepped, _asshole. Whose kitchen is this anyway?" Julia complains goodnaturedly even as she does as Eliot bids. 

Eliot ignores her and gets stuck in, happy to let the easy flow of conversation from the living area wash over him for now. Margo, Julia and Alice are catching up over the first bottle of wine, but it takes him a little too long to notice that Quentin's voice hasn't joined theirs. When he looks over, it's to find Quentin leaning against the fridge, watching him work with a strange look on his face. "Everything okay, Q?" Eliot asks, one eyebrow raised.

Quentin blinks, startled, before he grins. "Just watching the master at work," he says lightly. "I hardly ever get to see you actually cook."

"I like to cook," Eliot says, lifting a wooden spoon to his lips. "Hmm. Most people just don't deserve my talents."

Quentin's expression turns thoughtful for a moment before the smile returns, wider than before, and he steps forward to wrap an arm around Eliot's waist, leaning in to press an over-the-top kiss to Eliot's cheek. "Then I'm glad we deserve it," he says decisively. 

Eliot chuckles. "You sure you're all right, though?" he asks, his voice low. "I'm pretty sure you invited Alice to stay."

"We did," Quentin says, his smile softening. "And I'm fine. It's been years since we were together, El."

"And yet you're in here with me," Eliot says, "who you see every day, because I live in the same building as you."

"I could leave," Quentin offers, stepping back and looking at Eliot with a raised eyebrow. 

"I'm not complaining," Eliot says, turning back to the stove. "I'm just making a point."

Quentin rolls his eyes. "Alice is going to be here for the next few days, and the living room is _right _there. I'm not missing anything, except whatever point you're trying to make."

Eliot just shakes his head. "What else is new?"

Quentin sticks his tongue out at Eliot. "Keep acting like that and I will leave," he sniffs. 

"Oh, don't be so miserable," Eliot complains. "Stay, I'll be nice. You're decent company, if a somewhat lacking sous chef."

Quentin laughs. "And what would make me a better sous chef, then?"

"You could pour me a glass of red wine, for starters," Eliot says. "And then give me the bottle."

"Oh, of course it's alcohol you want," Quentin says, grinning, as he turns to rifle through the cabinet for the wine glass. "What's the rest of the bottle for?"

"The sauce," Eliot says. "Not the whole bottle, but probably most of it."

”Sure it is,” Quentin hums, pouring Eliot his requested glass before handing both bottle and glass over with a grin.

* * *

Eliot's spaghetti is predictably amazing, and after it's been demolished they all curl up in the living room with wine and gin and talk late into the night. Eliot and Margo return to their own apartment around one, but only because the others are struggling to keep their eyes open. They take the gin with them, making noises about their intention to keep the party going. Once they're gone, Julia stays up just long enough to make sure Alice is settled in her room and crawl into bed beside Quentin before passing the fuck out. Quentin isn't far behind her.

The next morning Quentin wakes early. He always does when he's up late drinking the night before, even if he's not particularly hungover. It's annoying. Julia is still sleeping like the dead next to him, and probably will be until at least noon, so he decides to get out of bed and face the day.

The last thing he expects to find when he stumbles out of his room in boxers and a t-shirt is Alice already up and dressed, drinking coffee in his kitchen.

Quentin may be sleep deprived and a little delirious, but he doesn't miss or imagine the once-over Alice gives him over the rim of her mug. "Hey, Q," she says after a beat. "Feeling rough?"

Quentin groans by way of answer. "Gimme a moment to get some coffee, you ridiculous morning person," he mumbles, giving Alice a friendly nudge as he passes her on his way to the coffee maker. "Take it _you _aren't feeling the effects of last night?"

Alice shrugs. "I didn't drink that much," she says. She smiles. "And I've built up a higher tolerance since our first year."

That gets a bark of a laugh out of Quentin as he fixes his coffee, including a small dose of Julia's morning-after cure. "Your tolerance was absolutely _awful,_ it'd be difficult not to improve it, living in the Physical Cottage," he says, taking a sip of his coffee and sighing as the potion and caffeine hit him. 

Alice concedes the point. "Are you feeling up to any breakfast yet?" she asks, gesturing vaguely towards the toaster.

Quentin hums thoughtfully, taking another sip of his coffee. "Just about," he decides. "You already eat?"

"I hope you don't mind," Alice says, already reaching for the bread. "I was starving."

"Nah, it's fine," Quentin assures Alice, giving her a smile. "How long have you been up?"

"Only about half an hour," Alice says. She pops two slices of bread into the toaster, and a gentle humming sound joins them in the quiet kitchen. "I haven't been sleeping well since I got back."

Quentin makes a sympathetic noise. "Jet lag or - ?"

Alice shrugs. "I think I'm just restless," she says. "I'm not going back to work for another week, I just... want to get back out there." She laughs. "That's weird, isn't it? Wanting to go back to work."

Quentin grins. "Not when it's something you love. I'm always looking forward to when I get to work on my book, and for the start of the semester."

"How's the book coming?" Alice asks, curious.

Quentin perks up considerably. "Really well! I'm making good progress on it, even though there's still a couple of plot points I need to sort out for continuity's sake."

"What's happening so far?" Alice asks.

"Well, the Beast is still stalking Jason, but the first years are going through the Trials now. And then it'll be on to Mayakovsky, but I need to give him a different name."

Alice laughs. "Does he know you're writing about him?"

"Yeah," Quentin says, then winces. "That was a fun conversation."

"What did he say?"

"Made sure I wasn't going to give away too many specific secrets about magic, and that I'd do him justice," Quentin says, shaking his head. "Talked him around in the end."

The toaster pops back up, and Alice sets to buttering the toast. "Are you being very specific?" she wonders.

Quentin snorts. "Of course not. I explained a little about how it works, but the mechanics of magic isn't the focus of the story."

"I think it's really clever, what you're doing with it," Alice offers. She cuts the toast corner to corner and piles it onto a plate before setting it in front of Quentin. "What I've read so far is really good."

"Thank you," Quentin says, tugging the plate closer. "It's been a lot of fun to write, and I think I'm coming up to the halfway point for this first book."

"That's exciting," Alice says. "How long do you think it'll be for the whole thing?"

Quentin shrugs, finishing off his first piece of toast as he thinks. "Depends on how busy I get during the semester, but... It'll be ready to go to the editor by the end of the spring semester, at the latest."

"That's really exciting," Alice says earnestly. She smiles at him. "I'm glad you're happy, Q."

Quentin smiles, reaches across the table so he can lay his hand over Alice's, squeezing briefly. "What about you, and your work?"

Alice laughs. "I think you're still too hungover for me to start going into detail on my research progress," she says. "Do you want more coffee?"

Quentin sighs, tilts his head in concession. “Yes, please. But don’t think I’m not going to ask you about it again when my head isn’t pounding!”

* * *

Quentin's first week teaching is frankly painful to watch, not because he's bad at it or it doesn't go well, but because he's so tired by the end of it that Eliot thinks he's going to die. They leave him to pass the fuck out at eight thirty on Friday night, but when he resurfaces sometime just before noon on Saturday Eliot, Margo and Julia are waiting for him with excellent food and even better alcohol aplenty.

They all get royally fucked up in the name of celebrating a successful first week for Quentin, and they keep the party going until the early hours of the morning. Admittedly, things have wound down a little by now. They've all gotten drunk, sobered up and gotten drunk again, and are in the process of coming back down. Eliot and Quentin are somehow on the living room floor, lounging against the couch and the love seat where Margo and Julia are spread out, respectively. They're all laughing at something, Eliot can't even remember what, but there's a little tear in his eye when his own laughter peters out into a sigh.

"God," he chuckles. "I hope we're always like this."

"What," Julia asks, "drunk?"

"Yes!"

Margo laughs, echoing her agreement, but Quentin groans. "I can't be drunk all the time!" he protests, though he's grinning wide enough to hurt. "I have to _teach _on Monday!"

"You'll be fine, baby," Eliot coos. "You'll sleep it off tomorrow, eat your weight in bacon and be fresh as a daisy by Monday."

Quentin moans, a protest or in anticipation, his head lolling against the loveseat so that Julia takes pity on him and reaches out to pet over his hair. "Curly Q," Margo sighs, mirroring Julia's movement with Eliot. "All grown up."

"Isn't it lovely?" Eliot sighs.

"So lovely," Julia agrees, "but I'm wiped. Sorry, Q, I'm gonna have to turn in."

Quentin sighs, scooting over to sit next to Eliot so that Julia can get up. "Fine, go get some rest, Jules," he says, leaning against Eliot. "I'll just have to count on these two to entertain me."

"Actually," Margo says slowly, sitting up as well, "I'm kind of beat, too. I was thinking of going home."

Eliot twists to look at her. "Bambi. You can't _leave_, it's still early."

"Mama needs her beauty rest, baby," Margo says. She pets his hair. "You and Q can entertain yourselves, right?"

"Of course we can," Quentin says, giving Margo a smile. "We're adults, and we've got plenty of alcohol left."

"All righty, then." Julia gives them all a sweet smile and rounds the couch on unsteady legs, heading for the door. "Goodnight, all!" She waves vaguely behind her and disappears down the hall towards her room.

Margo gets to her feet, too, and blows them both a kiss. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, boys."

Quentin laughs. "That's not a whole lot, Mar!" he calls, waving as Margo makes her way to the door. 

"You're lucky I'm drunk, Coldwater," Margo calls back. "Call me that again and I'll hex your balls off." The front door slamming behind her just punctuates her point.

Eliot falls against Quentin, laughing. "Oh my god," he gasps, "_please_ call her that again."

Quentin laughs as well, wrapping an arm around Eliot's waist easily. "I like my balls where they are, thanks," he snickers. 

"Mmm." Eliot rests his head back against the sofa, still grinning. "I guess I can see the appeal."

Quentin laughs, and doesn't know where on earth his next words come from. "So you've got an interest in making sure my balls stay where they are, then?"

"Maybe," Eliot allows. "I also don't think you can handle facing the true wrath of Margo Hanson."

"No one can handle that," Quentin says solemnly. Then he grins. "Though I'd love to witness her unleashing that on someone else. Bet it makes a _hell_ of a sight."

"Truly beautiful," Eliot agrees.

They talk for the next hour or so, the apartment silent and still around them. Eliot gave up on making cocktails long ago, and they drink the last bottle of wine slowly, savouring it and each other's company. They pour their last glasses of wine at last, though, and Eliot raises his own in a toast. "To you," he says. "To surviving your first week. Proud of you, Q."

Quentin laughs, a pleased smile on his lips as he lifts his own glass, touches it to Eliot's, and drinks. They lapse into an easy silence that lasts for a few heartbeats, and then Quentin twitches in place, his shoulders straightening. "Hey," he says, glancing up at Eliot and then away - and then back. "Hey, I - " He makes a brief, frustrated noise, and seems to abandon words altogether, then. Instead, Quentin leans in, further than either of them usually allow themselves, and presses his lips to Eliot's for a wine-stained kiss.

Eliot kind of hates himself for the way he gasps against Quentin's mouth, but he gets with the program quickly enough. Quentin barely has a chance to pull away, uncertainty writ across his features, before Eliot has a hand around the back of his neck and is pulling him back in. This time it's Quentin's turn to gasp into Eliot's mouth, his - thankfully empty - glass dropping to the carpet as he reaches up, buries his hands in Eliot's hair and _tugs._

Eliot groans into the kiss, barely has the wherewithal to set his own glass down out of harm's way before he's on Quentin, pressing him back against the couch, his hand on Quentin's face now. "Q," he breathes, into the space between kisses. "Q, I--"

"Bedroom," Quentin blurts, hands frantic on Eliot's arms. "I - Shit, Jules will _never_ forgive me if I have sex on the living room floor, and I _really_ wanna fuck you, El, _c'mon._"

"God, yes." Eliot struggles to his feet and then holds his hands out to help Quentin up, only to drag him back into his arms once he's upright for more hungry kisses.

Quentin goes eagerly, teeth dragging against Eliot's lip when he finally pulls back. He doesn't go far, tangles his fingers with Eliot's and pulls him down the hallway, pushes his door open and pulls Eliot inside before he closes the door by pushing Eliot against it, pressing into his space. "Clothes," he demands between biting kisses, tugging at the fabric that is still frustrating him, covering Eliot and barring his hungry gaze. "Get them _off,_ please."

Eliot goes straight for Quentin's belt, pulling it free from the buckle so that he can undo Quentin's fly and push his jeans down over his hips, but gets frustrated quickly with the fiddly buttons on his shirt. "How much do you like this shirt?" Eliot pants.

"Never hated it more."

"Great." Eliot works through a few tuts and Quentin's shirt vanishes. "Much better."

"Yours now," Quentin demands, impatient as he works at Eliot's pants, making a satisfied noise when he can finally get his hands on Eliot's skin, fit his thumbs into the cut of Eliot's hips and knead. 

The back of Eliot's head hits the door with a thud, and his hands find Quentin's shoulders. "Fuck, get your pants off and get on the bed. I'm right behind you."

Quentin hesitates, torn between wanting to keep his hands on Eliot and wanting to get his hands on _all _of Eliot. In the end, he lets go of Eliot and shoves his pants off impatiently - nearly tripping himself and taking a header into his dresser in the process - and practically throws himself onto his bed, watching Eliot through hooded eyes. "Get a move on, Waugh," he purrs, one hand stroking up the inside of his own thigh. "Or I'll get started without you."

"Don't you dare." Eliot doesn't go so far as vanishing his own clothes, but he does pull them off with very little regard for where they land, which is almost as dramatic. He looks at Quentin hungrily, holds his gaze while he finally slides his own underwear off, and wastes little time in joining Quentin on the bed.

Quentin welcomes him eagerly, pulling Eliot up until he’s settled over Quentin, Eliot’s weight pressing him into the mattress and making him purr in satisfaction. Eliot alternately wrings and coaxes more satisfied noises from Quentin that night - just as many as Quentin manages to pull from Eliot. They lose track of time, wrapped up in each other and learning the few things they don’t already know about each other. They eagerly exhaust each other, and Quentin doesn’t think to kick Eliot out of his bed and Eliot doesn’t think to leave once they’re done; they fall asleep still naked, still tangled in each other and the sheets beneath and around them.

* * *

Eliot is the first to wake, and he wakes smiling. He can still feel Quentin pressed against him, spooning him from behind, his breath warm and tickly on the back of his neck. So he stayed. Of course, it's Quentin's own room - but he didn't wake up in the middle of the night and kick Eliot out, either. He's still _holding him_. Just like Eliot hoped he would be.

The thing is, he and Quentin have been dancing around this for a long time. If Eliot had been so inclined, they probably would have fallen into bed together a lot sooner. But Eliot knows Quentin. After he and Alice slept together in Brakebills South, Quentin became so hell-bent on forging a relationship with her that he almost destroyed their friendship in the process. Eliot had seen that it was a misguided effort from the start, but Quentin was so earnest, so sure, so unwilling to think of their chance encounter as... just that. Eliot doesn't think he's ever had a one night stand. Quentin doesn't _do_ sex without deep, meaningful emotions, and Eliot... wasn't ready for that before.

But he is now.

So he smiles, and he turns in Quentin's arms, and proceeds to kiss Quentin awake. It doesn't take long at all; Quentin wakes with a sleepy, half-questioning, half-pleased noise, his arms tightening around Eliot as he slowly blinks awake. Quentin's eyes go wide as as soon as he registers Eliot's presence - and then he smiles. "Morning," he mumbles, pressing in for another long, lazy kiss. "Been up long?"

"Not really," Eliot says. "I don't even know what time it is. I just... wanted to kiss you."

Quentin blinks. "Oh," he says, a bit dumbly. "Well. Feel free to do that anytime you want to."

Eliot grins, and kisses Quentin again. "Don't mind if I do," he says, leaning back against the pillows. "Last night was... interesting."

Quentin snorts. "Yeah, it was," he says, settling carefully into the mattress, watching Eliot closely. Whatever he sees makes him relax, however, and the smile he gives Eliot is loose, warm. "Want to do it again?"

That surprises a laugh out of Eliot. "What, now?"

Quentin shrugs, his hand finding Eliot's under the covers, lacing their fingers together. "Now, later - just... in general. This something you want to do again?"

Eliot squeezes, bites his lip. "Yeah," he says. "I think so. Do you?"

"Yeah," Quentin says, honest - even though there's something in the very depths of his eyes that might be a trick of the late-morning light filtering through the curtains. "Yeah, I do."

Eliot laughs, relieved. "Well then," he says, "perhaps we should stay in bed a little longer?"

Quentin smiles, scoots closer to Eliot and tucks himself under Eliot's chin. "I think that's a great idea."

* * *

Margo is in the kitchen reheating a stir fry for dinner when Eliot finally comes back to their apartment. "So," she calls over her shoulder, "did you finally corrupt our dear Q?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Eliot says, sauntering over to the fridge like he isn't still wearing yesterday's clothes. "White?"

”Of course you don’t,” Margo hums. “Yes, please.”

Eliot pours them both a glass and sits down opposite Margo when she's ready to eat. It takes a lot of effort to hold her gaze, but he's never been one to shy away from anything, least of all Margo. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asks at last, when he can't stand it anymore.

”You’ve got a massive hickey on the side of your neck,” Margo says mildly, her gaze sharp.

Eliot slaps a hand against his neck, while at the same time pulling up the camera on his phone with his other. "You lying witch!" he cries. "Why are you like this?"

Margo smirks, taking a sip of her wine. “Saved you the trouble of having to bring the topic up,” she laughs. “Really, El, I’ve known you for years now, I know when you’ve gotten laid. And I would bet good money that you didn’t leave our little nerds’ apartment last night.”

Eliot flushes and looks away. "All right," he says. "Let's say you're right... So what?"

”_So_, how did he react this morning? How did _you_?”

"Well, I think?" Eliot laughs. "I told him I could kiss him forever, and he said... okay."

Margo studies Eliot for a moment longer before her smile widens into something easier, softer. "Good. It's about fucking time you two got your heads out of your asses."

Eliot's answering smile is small and full of hope. "You know what this means," he says, "maybe better than anyone. Q is maybe the hottest mess of our group, and I've met me. Random hook-ups are not a thing for him."

"No, they aren't," Margo agrees. "We all saw that mess with Alice their first year." She reaches across the table, covers Eliot's hand with hers. "I'm happy for you, El."

Eliot squeezes her hand so hard. "I'm ready, right?" he asks, grinning like he can't even help himself. "I think I am, but you know me so much better than I do."

Margo doesn't flinch or hesitate. "You're ready. I wouldn't have said that even six months ago, but... You've finally settled into yourself, El."

Eliot beams. "He's coming to the Tut tonight," he says. "And I think we're doing dinner tomorrow."

Margo smiles back just as wide. "That's great, El. But I hope you're planning on taking a shower and changing your clothes before you meet him tonight."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Obviously," he says. "I just wanted to check in with my main bitch first."

"Well, now you have, so finish eating and go shower," Margo says primly. "This will be your first date with him, you want to make a good impression, even if he is your second best friend."

Eliot's laughing when he gets to his feet. "You'd better come help me get dressed after," he says. "Quentin's already seen me repeat outfits multiple times; we could have a disaster on our hands."

* * *

Their night at the Tut goes phenomenally, and dinner the next night is an easy affair. The transition from friends to _more_ is so smooth that it's barely noteworthy, except for how it's been such a long time coming. After the dinner at a nearby Italian place that Eliot had strictly vetted, they don't see each other for a few days until Eliot invites Quentin to his apartment when Margo’s scheduled to stay late at the bar. Quentin shows up with a pile of short essays to grade, and they order out for Thai before settling on the couch. “So,” Quentin says, taking a bite out of his garden roll, “what’s all those glasses doing out on the counter in the kitchen? Experimenting again?”

"Always," Eliot says, smiling like he's pleased Quentin noticed. "Our cocktail menu needs something new, and I'm at my most creative when I'm either happy or horribly depressed."

Quentin grins. "Well, no prizes for guessing which one you are right now," he teases. "What's your favorite so far?"

Eliot waves a hand, and a glass containing a shimmering purple cocktail floats over to Quentin. "See what you think," he says.

Quentin takes the glass from the air, lifting it to his lips. He makes a pleased, surprised sound when the first sip hits his tongue, and takes another, deeper drink. "Fruity, but not overwhelmingly sweet," he muses. "With a nice kick. I like it."

"I thought you might," Eliot says, just a little smug. "I don't know what I'm calling it, though."

Quentin hums thoughtfully, taking another sip. "Berry Fine?" he suggests, though he's clearly not too sure about that suggestion. "Maybe something better will jump out."

"No," Eliot says, smiling, "that's cute, let's go with that."

A light flush touches Quentin’s cheeks, and he gives Eliot a smile that's almost _shy._ “We should probably finish eating before the food gets cold,” he says, barely more than a mumble as his gaze drops to the plate in his lap, color spotting high on his cheeks.

Once they've finished their dinner, Eliot clears away the mess and pours them each a glass of wine, and they get to work. They enjoy a wonderfully romantic evening of grading papers and going over the books for the Manhattan Tut, occasionally exchanging the odd remark about a student's misuse of a semicolon or some idiot's glaringly obvious banking error, but mostly just working in comfortable silence. At some point Eliot magics the entertainment system to play some soothing classical music, and each of them gets up periodically to refill the wine glasses. It's a perfectly pleasant way to spend their night - until Eliot gets bored.

"What?" he asks, grinning up at Quentin. He set his own paperwork aside some moments ago and has since wriggled his way under Quentin's arm until his head is in his lap, his long legs dangling over the arm of the sofa. "I'm comfortable. Are you not comfortable?"

"I'm comfortable, but how am I supposed to finish grading these - " Quentin gives the paper in his hand a pointed shake, a fond, yet exasperated, smile on his face " - when your head is in my lap?"

Eliot just shrugs. "Maybe you're not."

"El." Quentin treats Eliot to an unimpressed look that loses something for how he can't quite stop his lips from twitching. "I need to finish grading this last class's papers."

"Then work it out," Eliot says, still grinning cheekily. "I'm not stopping you."

Quentin rolls his eyes, but when he looks back down at Eliot, he's smirking. "Well, if you're not going to move..." He trails off, waiting for a moment - but when Eliot, indeed, doesn't move, Quentin puts the essay down over Eliot's face and resumes writing the comment he'd been in the middle of making when Eliot had wriggled under his arm.

Eliot laughs loudly, and squirms a little, but actually does his best to stay still. When Quentin finishes with that paper and sets it aside to reach for another, he asks, "How many are left, exactly?"

"Half a dozen," Quentin answers absently. "Oh, that's an absolutely horrendous - spellcheck exists for a _reason,_ for fuck's sake."

Eliot huffs. "And you absolutely have to finish them tonight?"

"They're supposed to get these back tomorrow," Quentin laughs. "I told you I needed to grade them tonight when I first came over here."

"And what if I suggested a break?" Eliot asks. He turns his head slightly, presses his face into Quentin's lap until his mouth finds the line of Quentin's dick through his sweats.

Quentin sucks in a sharp breath, has to consciously keep his grip on the paper in his hand from tightening so he doesn't crumple the paper. "_El,_" he says, half-warning, half-desperate plea. "I have six more papers to grade and then I'm done. If I let you convince me to take a break now, I'll just have to do these in the middle of the night."

Eliot mouths at Quentin's cock, and is gratified to feel it starting to get hard. "I'll be quick," he promises.

"Maybe _I _don't want to be quick," Quentin counters, but it's weak. 

Eliot sighs hard against Quentin's cock, and sits up. "Fine," he says, "but hurry up."

Quentin swears under his breath, clearly wanting to rush through these last papers, but he makes himself work carefully. Finally, _finally, _he finishes, and all but chucks his pen to the floor as he twists in his seat, climbs into Eliot's lap and fists his hands in Eliot's shirt. "You're a goddamn _tease,_" he growls, pressing in for a fierce kiss. "Making me finish that grading with a boner."

Eliot chuckles, low and filthy. "I did offer to suck your cock."

"Because you're an impatient bastard," Quentin retorts. "You know I wouldn't have just left it at you sucking my cock. Whatever, I'm done now, and I'm all yours." He grins, presses in for another kiss. "Wanna give Margo her own eyeful of you fucking me on this couch?"

Eliot bites his lip, his eyes going dark. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I want that."

* * *

Quentin’s working on revising the latest chapter of his manuscript in an attempt to work past writer’s block when the front door opens. Julia isn’t due home for another few hours, so Quentin’s unsurprised to see Eliot coming through the door when he looks up - but he is surprised to see the ring of darkened skin around his eye. “What the hell happened to you?” Quentin demands, concerned, as he closes his laptop and pushes himself to his feet, moving closer until he can take Eliot’s face in his hands, gently tilting it for a better look. “Jesus, that looks painful.”

"For once," Eliot says, "it's exactly what it looks like. I got punched in the face."

”How - _Why?_ It’s not even eight o’clock!”

"There was a fight at the bar," Eliot says. "Yeah, I know. And because it's not even eight o'clock, our bouncer wasn't there, so I had to break it up. I don't think he was actually swinging at me, but my face got in the way."

”You're such an attention whore,” Quentin teases. “C’mon, sit down and I’ll see if we’ve got a bag of peas or something to put on that.”

"Yes please," Eliot says, pouting. "Pity me."

Quentin laughs, unable to resist pressing a gentle kiss to Eliot’s cheek. “Go on, sit,” he says, stepping back and towards the kitchen.

Eliot does as he's told, and watches Quentin with a woeful expression while he rummages through the freezer. "Do I at least look sexy with my battle wounds?" he asks.

Quentin glances over his shoulder, giving Eliot an indulgent smile. "Very sexy," he assures him. "But you'd be sexier if you had a little scar under your eye or maybe over your nose."

Eliot scoffs. "Please," he says. "You can't improve on perfection."

”Well, you don’t get any points for modesty,” Quentin chuckles. “Alright, here.” He comes out of the kitchen with a bag of frozen peas, which he hands to Eliot. “Get that area good and numb, and I’ll see what I can do about the bruising.”

"What are you gonna do?" Eliot asks, sounding like a petulant child as he holds the peas against his face.

”Remember the spell Margo used when Penny Traveled into my bed by accident when he was drunk and elbowed me in the face?”

Eliot perks up visibly. "You think you can do it?" he asks.

"I think I can at least speed up the healing.”

Eliot nods. "All right," he says. "Thank you."

Quentin smiles. "No problem. So, what was the guy aiming for if he wasn't trying to punch you in the face?"

"The other guy's face," Eliot says. "I don't even know what they were fighting about - but of course they were Muggles."

"I did wonder why you were bruised and not hexed," Quentin says mildly. "Did you kick them out on their asses?"

"They're both barred for life," Eliot tells him. "Magically. They'll never find it again."

"Good. Serves them right for starting a fight that early in the day." Quentin shifts in his seat, closer to Eliot. "Guessing you took the night off?"

"Margo sent me home," Eliot tells him.

Quentin smiles. "I knew I liked her for a reason," he says, clearly teasing. "Is your face numb yet?"

Eliot takes the peas away from his face and prods gingerly at his cheek. "Yeah," he says, "pretty much. Do your worst, Coldwater."

Quentin laughs. “My worst is pretty bad,” he snickers, hands already lifted as he works through the first tut. “So how about I try my best? Stay still, I need to concentrate.”

Eliot holds as still as he can, watching Quentin's face rather than his hands as he goes through the required tuts. He looks really rather lovely when he's concentrating. He looks really rather lovely all the time. After a moment Eliot becomes distantly aware of a vague tingling sensation over his cheek and eye, but nothing else happens before Quentin drops his hands, looking pleased. "Did it work?" Eliot asks.

”Yep,” Quentin says, reaching up to gently prod at the skin around Eliot’s eye. “Can barely tell that there was a bruise there.”

Eliot catches Quentin's hand, presses a tender kiss to his palm. "Thank you," he murmurs.

Quentin flushes, but he smiles at Eliot. “You’re welcome. Be a little more careful about where you’re putting your face, please? I like it the way it is.”

"I promise," Eliot says. "Even though having you patch me up is kind of nice."

Quentin grins. "Well, just don't get yourself in _too _much trouble; I'm not a Healer."__

_ _

Eliot grins, too. "You're sexy when you boss me around," he says.

Quentin laughs, leaning in for a kiss. “Flatterer,” he murmurs against Eliot’s lips. Neither of them say much after that.

* * *

The next week passes in a blur of grading; midterms are rapidly approaching, and the essays that Quentin had assigned at the beginning of the semester asking students to compare major themes in a variety of the novels on the approved list to current real-world issues are due. He’s doing his best to grade them as soon as students turn them in, but he has over fifty essays to grade between the two sections of the course they had been assigned to, and then he has _another_ twenty essays to grade for his English 100 level course. Quentin spends most of the week in the study whenever he’s home, only leaving whenever the smell of Julia or Eliot’s cooking tempts him out, or when Eliot forcibly drags him out by the arm and shoves him into a shower and bed. 

It’s not unlike how Eliot had taken care of him during his third year finals; the only difference is that now, Eliot can add sex to the list of things he can use to entice Quentin from his work, and Eliot makes sure that Quentin actually _stays_ in his bed the whole night by virtue of turning into a clingy octopus. Quentin sleeps better with Eliot nearby, even if Eliot does nearly accidentally choke him out once. 

When Saturday finally rolls around, Quentin stumbles out of his bedroom before Eliot’s awake, lured by the scent of coffee drifting down the hallway. “I will worship you for the rest of my days if some of that is for me,” he groans, nearly tripping over a chair as he heads toward the kitchen, where Julia is standing like an angel bearing ambrosia from the gods. 

Julia actually laughs at him, but she does hand over her own mug of coffee before turning to fix herself a new one. "You feeling okay?" she asks, like she knows the answer.

Quentin takes the mug greedily. "Y'know those dancing sugar plums you're supposed to dream of around Christmas?" he asks, blowing gently on the coffee in his hand to help it cool just that little bit faster. "I'm dreaming of dancing red pens."

Julia makes a sympathetic noise. "Do you have much left?"

Quentin sighs. "No, thank fuck. Just a few of the late submissions from the intro course." He takes a sip of the coffee and practically _moans._ "I fucking love you, by the way. Have I told you that lately?"

"Not often enough," Julia sniffs. "But I guess I'll make you breakfast anyway."

"I love and appreciate you _so much, _Jules," Quentin says, coming closer so he can give Julia a one-armed hug and press a kiss to her temple. "I'd be lost without you."

Julia grins and swats at him. "You're ridiculous," she says, "but I love you, too." She hesitates then and bites her lip, stealing a furtive glance down the hall toward their bedrooms. "Should I make some for Eliot, too?"

"He's still sleeping like the dead," Quentin says, "but he can always warm some up later, or fend for himself. He's a big boy."

Julia smiles. "He's been staying over a lot lately," she offers.

Quentin hums, taking another sip of his coffee. "He's just been coming over late to bully me away from my desk and make sure I sleep."

"That's sweet of him."

"He's just looking out for his own self-interest; can't fuck me if I die of dehydration or lack of sleep," Quentin jokes - and then tenses. He hasn't explicitly _told_ anyone that he and Eliot are fucking since they started. 

Julia doesn't look surprised, though. "I guess," she says. "He also really cares about you, Q."

Quentin smiles. "I care about him, too," he says truthfully. "Does it... bother you? That he's been spending the night here a lot?"

"Of course not," Julia says. She gives him a quizzical smile. "This is your home too, Q."

Quentin shrugs one shoulder. "Just checking. I don't want to... make you uncomfortable, or anything. I mean, we use silencing charms, but."

"Why would it make me uncomfortable?" Julia asks.

Quentin makes a vague gesture towards his head. "I don't know, but you know how my brain gets sometimes."

Julia smiles. "Well, you know whatever makes you happy is okay with me."

* * *

"All right, children," Eliot says, setting a tray of drinks down with a flourish, "drink up!" Quentin and Julia are sitting at a round table with Kady and Penny, the two remaining seats left conspicuously empty. The tray offers each of them a tequila shot and an outrageous-looking cocktail, and Kady takes her shot before Eliot's even finished speaking. "On the house, of course. Margo and I get off in an hour, so don't get too fucked up without us, okay?"

"We won't, but you'll have to catch up quick!" Julia laughs, reaching for her shot and Quentin's, handing his over. 

Eliot gives them a fond smile as Quentin clinks his glass against Julia's and then downs the shot. Penny gags and slams his own. "I'll be back to check on you in a while," Eliot assures them. He touches Quentin's arm for a moment and then turns away. "Enjoy, darlings!"

Kady kicks Quentin under the table and gestures after Eliot. "What the hell was that?"

"_Ow!_" Quentin yelps, reaching down to rub at his leg. "What the hell was _what_?"

"Your weird little broment with Eliot," Kady says. "Are you fucking him?"

Penny glares at her. "Can you fucking not? I don't need that image."

"Eliot's been staying over at our place more and more," Julia says before Quentin can do more than open his mouth. "I think it's great; it took you two long enough to get here."

Penny gags again, while Kady turns an incredulous look on Quentin. "Are you fucking serious?"

Quentin flushes while Julia aims a kick at Penny. "Yeah. I mean... Is it really that surprising?"

"That you finally removed your head from your asshole?" Kady asks. "Yes."

Quentin scowls, but its half-hearted. "I'd be more offended at that if I didn't know myself so well."

Penny tips his bright pink cocktail towards Quentin in acknowledgement. "Your level of self-awareness is one of the few things I respect about you," he says.

"Thanks," Quentin says sarcastically, taking a sip of his own Berry Fine. "It's not exactly _new, _but we haven't gone around shouting it to the world, either. We're just... taking it as it comes."

Kady smirks. "I bet you are."

"I will throw up," Penny warns.

"You're such _children,_" Julia sighs. "C'mon, drink. Q needs a distraction from the midterm madness and _I _need a distraction from Colton's abysmal filing system, so we're getting fucked up and dancing."

Quentin grins, seizing the change of subject with both hands and lifting his drink in Julia's direction. "I'll drink to that; cheers!"

Margo finds Julia on the dance floor first nearly an hour later, and the sight of Margo guiding Julia into something borderline obscene is all the warning Quentin gets before there's a warm weight against his back and hands on his hips. Grinning, Quentin tilts his head until he can look at Eliot. "Well, hello to you, too," he says, just loud enough to be heard over the music. "Heads up, Penny's being ridiculous about us."

Eliot chuckles, low and warm, and squeezes Quentin's hips. "Of course he is," he says. "Did you expect anything different?"

"Not really," Quentin says with a laugh, reaching up so he can thread his fingers through Eliot's hair. "C'mon, let's give him something to complain about."

Eliot pulls Quentin flush against him, his back to Eliot's chest, and guides him into something slow and filthy. It's how Eliot likes to dance when he's not wasted, and Quentin knows this, knows exactly how to move against him to get them both riled up. When he spots them, Penny predictably does a double-take, and Eliot grins at him while he dips his head to kiss Quentin's neck. "Is that enough of a reaction for you?" he asks.

"That's good," Quentin hums, smirking at Penny as he tilts his head, lets Eliot have better access to his neck. "But I think we can get a better one."

They do their best to make Penny physically sick, and are breathless with laughter by the time they disentangle themselves from each other and the press of bodies to get a drink. Eliot orders another round over to their table and they slide into their seats still laughing, to find that Penny has already beat them to it, along with Julia. Kady and Margo are now the ones grinding on the dance floor, and they're attracting quite a bit of attention.

Eliot pretends he doesn't notice the look of vague disgust on Penny's face, and instead gives him a wide smile. "Having a good night?" he asks.

"It could be better," Penny says dryly. "You two are absolutely disgusting, you know that?"

Eliot grins and leans in to give Quentin a particularly filthy kiss. "Yeah," he says, all kinds of smug, "we know."

Penny's expression does something odd, then; his gaze goes slightly distant before snapping to Quentin. His brow furrows, and he seems... almost like he's been thrown off-balance for a moment before he shakes his head and snorts, getting to his feet. "Right. Well, you two have fun, I'm gonna go throw up now."

Eliot throws his head back and laughs while Penny walks away. "You think we scarred him for life?" he asks, nudging Quentin.

"He's a psychic," Quentin laughs, leaning against Eliot. "I think it's pretty safe to say he's scarred."

Eliot kisses Quentin again, softer this time, and gives him a tender smile. "You staying at my place tonight?"

"I can," Quentin hums. "Don't have anything going on tomorrow I need to be up early for."

"Perfect," Eliot says. "Finish your drink."

* * *

With midterms finally over, Quentin has more time to work on his manuscript, and he eagerly dives headfirst back into writing whenever he has free time. He and Eliot continue spending more time together than apart, but Quentin doesn’t think anything of it until one evening when they’re curled up on the couch, Eliot tucked against Quentin’s side as they watch a rerun of _Bones._ It’s one of the later seasons, after Booth and Brennan have had their first child but before they’ve gotten married, and Eliot and Quentin are already bickering over who the killer is when the show detours into a brief, domestic scene with Booth and Brennan in their house. 

Quentin’s breath catches in his chest when the two onscreen start bickering over some meaningless detail, and he’s rather surprised that the rest of the world isn’t shaking. It feels like it should be, because his perspective just _tilted_ so dramatically, but - everything is still the same as it was before his moment of revelation. The television is still playing, Julia’s music drifting down the hallway from her room where she’s working on some translations that Colton asked her to finish, and Eliot... Eliot is still tucked up against Quentin’s side, his head on Quentin’s shoulder.

They hadn’t even had _sex_ last night, just... stripped and climbed into bed, curling into each other and going to sleep after only a few kisses. 

Eliot feels Quentin tense beneath him, and he sits up enough to look at him. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Quentin throttles back what's sure to be hysterical laughter. "I'm fine," he says, though he sounds hoarse, even to his own ears. "I just... remembered that I have a meeting early tomorrow morning, before classes."

"Oh, okay," Eliot says. "Should we go to bed?"

"Yeah, um, the - the meeting's _really _early, so I'll need to be up even earlier and I don't want to disturb you," Quentin says, the thought of sleeping next to Eliot suddenly making him panic. "So maybe not _us _tonight? You spent the last two nights here, anyway - " _Fuck,_ he had, hadn't he? " - I'm sure Margo's missing you."

"Probably," Eliot allows. He sits back against the couch and stretches. "All right. I'll leave you to your beauty sleep, and I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Quentin agrees, doing his best to sound like nothing's wrong as he levers himself off of the couch. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Eliot stands too and leans in to drop a kiss to Quentin's cheek. "Sleep well," he murmurs, and takes his leave before Quentin has a chance to react.

* * *

It takes a week for Eliot to come flouncing into Margo's room without knocking and flop dramatically onto her bed. "I have a problem," he announces.

Margo marks her page in the magazine she’d been reading and looks up. “Does it have anything to do with your suddenly-incredibly-busy nerd?”

Eliot sighs. "It has everything to do with him."

Margo sets the magazine aside and shifts until she can lay a hand on Eliot’s head, petting lightly. “Tell me all about it.”

"He's just blowing hot and cold," Eliot says. "Well, mostly cold. We haven't spent the night together all week."

Margo frowns. “That is odd,” she agrees, scratching her nails lightly against Eliot’s scalp. “You two haven’t fought or anything?”

"No," Eliot says. "He just kicked me out last week while we were watching TV because he had a big meeting the next day, and it's been weird ever since."

Margo’s frown deepens. “Q wouldn’t lie about a meeting. But he’s had plenty of big meetings since you two started seeing each other.”

"I'm not suggesting he lied," Eliot huffs, "but it's starting to feel like he's blowing me off. And I know, _I know_, I'm being a whiny bitch. You don't need to tell me how pathetic I am, crying to you over a boy. But it's _Q_, Margo."

Margo sighs. "I know it's Q, baby," she says. "Whining over a boy _is_ pathetic, but I'll let it slide because it's this particular boy. I assume you haven't talked to him about this?"

"Of course not," Eliot snaps. "The last time I talked to a guy about something like this, Mike happened. I need an impartial third party."

Margo winces. "Right. But, El... Quentin isn't Mike. He's oblivious and an anxious wreck, but he isn't going to act like Mike did. He'd listen if you talked to him."

"I'm talking to you," Eliot says. "Am I being paranoid?"

"No," Margo answers instantly. "After everything you went through, you aren't being paranoid to worry about something like this. This isn't normal behavior."

"So then what do I do?"

Margo ponders that for a moment, still stroking Eliot's hair. "Give him another few days," she suggests. "And if he's still blowing you off, you and I can confront him about it, or you can set me loose on him."

Eliot smiles at that. "I'm hoping that won't be necessary."

Margo hums. "Well, just let me know. I love Q, but I love you more."

* * *

That Sunday evening finds Eliot and Quentin back in bed together, clothes scattered through Eliot's bedroom as they lie tangled together on top of the sheets, sweat-slicked skin sticking together as they catch their breath. "Sorry I kinda jumped you," Quentin mumbles from where he's curled against Eliot's side, not sounding sorry at all. "You just looked too damn hot in that vest."

"Believe me," Eliot laughs, dropping a kiss to the top of Quentin's head, "I'm not complaining."

Quentin does his best not to tense, but it's difficult, and he's not entirely sure he succeeds. "Well, still," he says. "Kinda rude to mess up dinner plans like that."

"We can always try again tomorrow," Eliot says, "or I can whip up something quick if you want?"

Quentin sighs. "Maybe tomorrow? I have class in the morning and I need to adjust the lesson plan since we didn't cover everything we needed to on Friday."

"Sure," Eliot agrees easily. "I can provide snacks and encouragement."

"That - " Quentin glances up, catches sight of the time on the clock by Eliot's bed, and swears, pushing himself upright. "_Shit,_ I can't believe it's - Fuck, I gotta get going if I want to have that lesson plan ready by tomorrow."

Eliot follows his gaze and sighs. "I guess that means snacks and encouragement would just be a distraction."

Quentin gives Eliot a regretful look over his shoulder as he climbs out of bed. "Yeah, probably. I'll see you tomorrow, though?"

Eliot sighs. "Yeah," he says, "sure."

* * *

When Eliot comes up to Quentin's apartment the next day shortly before dinner, Julia is the one to open the door. Her presence is unexpected but not unwelcome; Quentin had mentioned that Colton had been keeping Julia extremely busy lately. Quentin is on the couch, his laptop on the coffee table while he frowns heavily at it - until he notices Eliot coming up beside him. "Hey!" he says, expression brightening. "Sorry, I was editing the last few chapters, lost track of time. I think they're ready to be read if you want to before dinner?"

"Gimme," Eliot says, immediately and with enthusiasm. "It feels like I've been waiting for these my whole life."

"It hasn't been _that _long," Quentin laughs, even as he navigates back to the last part that Eliot had read. "Start here."

Eliot takes the laptop from Quentin, but hesitates before he gets stuck in. "How long until dinner's ready?" he asks.

"An hour or so," Julia answers from the kitchen. "The chicken's almost done marinating."

"All right," Eliot agrees. He gives Quentin a hopeful look. "I don't suppose a glass of wine would be too much trouble?"

"Of course not," Quentin says, patting Eliot's knee. "Get started, I'll bring it over. We've still got some of that last bottle you and Margo brought."

Eliot starts reading while Quentin gets the wine, and is just settling into the new chapter when he returns. Quentin has some grading to get on with, and Eliot is mostly content to just ignore him while they read - but Quentin keeps looking at him, like he's nervous or something. Eliot isn't sure if he's worried about the chapter or if he just wants to spread out his papers more, but it's distracting, knowing that Quentin is watching him read. It's also making him feel weird.

"You know what?" Eliot muses, gathering the laptop and the wire into one hand, his wine glass in the other. "I think I'll give you some space." Julia is still busy in the kitchen, so Eliot decides to appropriate the loveseat. Quentin gives him a strange sort of smile as he stands up, but he doesn't say anything.

And he keeps not saying anything. It's comfortable, the silence, except for how it's really not. Quentin is still stealing anxious glances at him, but he's easier to ignore from across the room. And the chapter Eliot's reading is beautiful; Quentin has always had a way with words, and Eliot sinks into them with ease. It's a little awkward, how accurately Quentin describes Eliot's horrendous downward spiral after Mike left, but he does it with enough tact and respect that Eliot is left feeling kind of... awed. He didn't realise Quentin was paying that much attention back then, or that he understood Eliot so well now.

And then...

"Quentin," Eliot says, his voice somewhat strangled. "Am I reading this right? Did Jason just have a _threesome_ with Summer and Hale?"

Quentin's expression remains anxious, even as he nods. "Yeah."

"While they were all coming down from an emotions OD and Hale was blackout drunk."

"Yes. But it - It comes into play in the next chapter."

Eliot raises an eyebrow. "So I should... keep reading?"

"Er. Yes?" Quentin looks extremely nervous now, but he nods nonetheless. 

Eliot is now supremely uncomfortable, but he returns his attention to the laptop, and steadfastly ignores Quentin, who is now not even pretending to grade his papers anymore. Eliot reads about Jason waking up to Olivia sitting at the end of the bed, the epic fight that follows, Jason's crushing guilt and vague horror as he recalls the night before, his total discomfort around Hale that he doesn't seem to feel around Summer...

"Wait a minute," Eliot says, looking up. "Q, what am I reading?"

"Which part are you at?" Quentin hedges. "I wanted to make everyone's dynamic more complicated, so they're not at the top of their game when they face the Beast, even with the bottles."

"And you chose to do that by showing us hooking up?"

"It was one of the fastest in-character ways to do it," Quentin says, sounding almost defensive. 

"In-character?" Eliot demands. "Q, I remember that night. I was out of my fucking head on tequila and my own emotions, and I blacked out."

"I changed _some _things for the characters from the people," Quentin protests. 

"Some things," Eliot repeats dully. "What things didn't you change, Q?"

Quentin hesitates, and when he answers, he can't quite look at Eliot. "Most of what Jason's thinking and feeling," he says, like it's a confession that Eliot's dragging from him. 

"Right," Eliot says slowly. "Um. Julia?"

Julia pokes her head out of the kitchen. "Yes?"

"I know you've gone to a lot of trouble, but... I think I need to go home."

Julia's expression belies her concern, but all she does is nod. "Sure. Take care of yourself."

Eliot sets the laptop aside and gets to his feet, feeling more awkward than he's ever felt in his life. "I'll see you later, Q."

He leaves before Quentin can reply. 

* * *

When Margo gets back from the Manhattan Tut that night, she finds Eliot waiting for her. "I thought you were going to spend the night with your super nerd," she says, surprised, as she hangs up her purse and bends down to undo the straps of her heels. 

"I walked out," Eliot says, sounding as numb as he feels. "I need to ask you something."

Margo purses her lips, giving Eliot a critical look, but she steps forward nonetheless. "What do you need to ask?"

"Did you and Quentin have sex in our second year?"

If she hadn't already been lowering herself into the armchair, Margo probably would have taken a step back in shock. She takes a deep breath instead, sits down, and says, "Yes."

Eliot closes his eyes. "Okay," he says. "When?"

Margo keeps her head high, chin tilted in what could be defiance if not for the uncertainty in her eyes. "After the time you OD'ed on your emotions, tried to kill your liver with tequila, and passed the hell out once we finally got you upstairs."

Eliot nods. "Okay," he says again. "Was I in the same bed?"

"For part of it," Margo answers. "When clothes started coming off, Q insisted we go back to my room."

"Alice found out," Eliot surmises. "That's why they broke up."

Margo shakes her head. "It was the final straw, but they'd been fighting about a lot of things for a while. Very loudly, sometimes."

"I don't remember," Eliot admits. He swallows. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you were already so fucked up over Mike that you were magicking away your emotions," Margo says, almost desperate, a pleading look in her eyes as she leans forward. "And it was just the once, never going to happen again." Margo pauses, frowns delicately, and sits back. "How... _did _you find out, El?" she asks slowly. "I can't imagine Alice told you."

"No," Eliot says. "Quentin told me, in a... roundabout sort of way."

Margo's eyes widen. "He _told _you?"

"He wrote it," Eliot says. "And he included me in it."

Margo rocks back in her seat like she's just been slapped. "He _what?_"

Eliot's expression doesn't change. "He wrote that we had a threesome that night, and he wrote it like it ruined his life."

Margo's expression, however, all but crumples. "Oh, _El,_" she breathes, pushing herself out of her seat and moving closer to Eliot. "That's - I don't understand, how could he do that to you? He _knows _you read his work!"

"You're not usually this slow on the uptake, Bambi," Eliot says, casually, like he's commenting on the weather. "He wrote it _because_ I read his work."

Margo's expression remains confused for a moment - and then it darkens into something thunderous. "I'm going to kill him," she says, matter-of-fact for all that her eyes are sparking with anger. "Of all the _cowardly _things to do - "

"Don't," Eliot says. "It's fine. My mistake. Message received. Etcetera, etcetera."

Margo searches Eliot's expression for a long moment before she sighs. "I'm still making a plan to keep as backup," she mutters. "What do you need right now, baby?"

Eliot glances toward the floor, and Margo notices for the first time the empty bottle of scotch tucked against the leg of their coffee table. "Another drink," he says.

Margo bites her lip, but complies. 

* * *

Eliot doesn't see much of Quentin for the next few weeks, which suits him just fine. He's not actively avoiding him, but he thinks Quentin made himself pretty clear with that chapter - they don't need to be spending any time together. Margo is clearly worried about him, but she seems distracted, too, so Eliot doesn't feel too bad about occupying himself. He throws himself into the Manhattan Tut, spending long hours there every night, either in the back office going over the books and their upcoming promotions, or working behind the bar. If more often than not Eliot downs two shots himself for every drink he makes, it's no one's business but his own.

And then Margo comes home to him one day with a look on her face that he's never seen before and says that they need to talk, and Eliot feels his world tilt on its axis for the second time this month. _What now?_ he thinks desperately, but he smiles, pours them both a glass of wine from the second bottle he's opened tonight, and they curl up on the couch together. "What is it, Bambi?" he asks. "You look like someone died."

Margo takes a deep breath, toying with the rim of her glass. "No one's died, but I'm... conflicted. I got a job offer."

All of the breath leaves Eliot's body. "For what job?" he asks.

"Designer," Margo answers. "It's a small, independent studio, but everyone there is a magician, and they're making huge strides. They're interested in my work, put one of my designs in a recent collection and it's sold really well." She looks at Eliot hopefully. "I'm not abandoning the Tut, we worked too hard on it, but... I would be stepping back a bit, especially as I get started."

Eliot takes a breath. And another. He wishes he hadn't had so much to drink. He wishes he'd had more. "Margo," he says - and beams. "Bambi, this is amazing! I'm so happy for you, put your fucking glass down right the fuck now so we can do the hugging thing."

Margo does so, leaping up so she can wrap Eliot in her arms. "I'm so excited and nervous I feel like I'm going to puke," she confesses, arms tight around Eliot's waist. "I meant it, though, I'm not abandoning the Tut. It's our baby."

"Even if you did, I'd understand," Eliot tells her, and he means it. "You're going to be amazing, Bambi. I've never been more proud."

Margo beams, hugs Eliot closer. "I wanted to talk to you before I accepted the offer," she says. "I couldn't imagine doing this without you - you've supported me every step of the way."

"Accept it," Eliot tells her. "First thing in the morning. I'm behind you every step of the way, darling."

"I will," Margo says decisively, stepping back to pick up her drink again. "But tonight, I feel like having a private celebration."

Eliot picks up his own glass and clinks it against Margo's. "I'll drink to that."

* * *

It takes another two weeks for Julia to drag Quentin to the Tut, not necessarily to face Eliot but just to get him out of the apartment and into Eliot's general vicinity. They really haven't been ignoring each other, but they've barely been speaking whenever they've all hung out as a group, and they haven't hung out alone once. Quentin's moping has reached epic proportions, and Julia has finally had enough.

So they get dressed, they go out, and they fully intend to have a great time - but as soon as they get there, it becomes apparent that things are a little... off.

They're in the back room, the one that's exclusive to magicians, and it only takes a few moments of perusing the cocktail menu for Julia to see it. "Is it me," she asks slowly, running her finger down the options closer to the bottom of the list, "or do some of these sound a little... enhanced, to you?"

Quentin looks at the menu, following Julia's finger and frowning. "They do," he says, just as slow. "I thought El said they weren't doing that sort of thing here."

Julia glances toward the bar, where Eliot is mixing drinks and flirting with patrons. "Should we ask him about it?" she wonders.

Quentin hesitates, biting his lip. "Maybe? He seems pretty busy."

"He seems pretty--" Julia takes in a sharp breath when Eliot knocks back a shot and immediately pours himself another. "Drunk," she realises. "And high?"

Quentin nods. "That's - " He swallows, tries again. "I haven't seen him do shots like that since the last time he was high, after Mike."

"All right," Julia says, getting to her feet, "this is ridiculous. We need to talk to him."

Quentin nods, pushing himself to his feet. "I wonder if it's because of Margo's new job?" he asks, concern clear in his tone as he follows Julia through the throng. "I know she's busier because of it..."

They reach the bar before Julia can respond - and though it takes him a second, Eliot lights up at the sight of them. "Friends!" he cries. "Romans! What can I get you, darlings?"

"You can get us an explanation," Julia says.

Eliot's face goes carefully blank. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"El," Quentin says, trying his best to sound patient without being condescending, "you're drinking as much as you're selling."

"And?" Eliot asks. "It's my bar; I own the stock. I can do what I want."

"And what _is _the stock, El?" Quentin asks, a little desperately. "Thought Josh was just helping with the cocktails, not anything else."

Eliot gives a careless shrug. "Things change," he says. "Margo's taking a step back, and I've decided to move things in a new direction."

Quentin and Julia exchange worried looks. "And _drugs _is the direction you want to take the bar you've worked so hard on?"

Eliot's eyes narrow. "Is that judgement I hear in your voice, Quentin?"

"No, I just - We want to be sure that _you're _sure."

"Well, as much as I'd like to say that I appreciate your concern, Q, I don't," Eliot says bluntly. "I don't give a single flying fuck what you think. It's lovely to see you, Julia, but I think I'll leave Jacob to look after you both."

Quentin blinks and actually rocks back on his heels, looking at Julia in shock as Eliot walks away. "That - _What?_"

Julia sighs, and shakes her head as Jacob starts to approach. "I don't think we should drink tonight," she says. "Someone in this place needs to be sober enough to keep an eye on him."

"Yeah, no, agreed," Quentin says, watching Eliot. "Just some waters for us, Jacob, thanks."

Jacob gets the waters and they retreat to their table, Julia adjusting her chair so that she has a better view of the bar. "So," she says, "that was horrific."

"That was," Quentin says; he sounds almost despondent. "_Fuck,_ I - He was like this after Mike."

"I remember," Julia says. "This is bad, Q."

Quentin bites his lip, starts tearing at the paper wrapper from the straw in his water. "It is. I - I didn't think he'd take it _this _way."

Julia looks at him sharply. "You don't think this is because of your book?"

"What else could it be?" Quentin asks, a bit desperately. "Margo's still around, her taking a step back from the Tut shouldn't drive him _this _far into drinks _and _drugs."

"He did seem pretty mad at you back there," Julia allows. "But this is nothing like what happened with Mike."

Quentin sighs. "Let's just keep an eye on him," he says.

So they do. They keep an eye on him while he drinks the bar dry. They keep an eye on him while he becomes increasingly erratic and out of control. They move to intervene when they watch him do a line of something right off of the fucking bar, but it's too late - he straightens up just before they reach him, and lurches dramatically to the side, the arm that he reaches out to catch himself with sweeping across the bar top and taking out several glasses and a bottle of vodka with an almighty smash.

For a moment everything stops. Eliot stares at the mess with wide-eyed horror - and then he throws his head back and laughs. "Oops," he titters, clearly out of his mind, "the cleaners will have a field day tomorrow! Free drinks for everyone!"

A cheer goes up, and Quentin steps behind the bar, stepping around a suddenly-overwhelmed Jacob so that he can put a hand on Eliot's shoulder. "El, I think that might be enough for tonight," he says, concern clear in his voice.

"What are you talking about?" Eliot laughs. "The party's just getting started!"

"You've been partying for hours already," Quentin protests. "You need to sleep, El."

"Sleep is for the weak!" Eliot insists, swaying on his feet. "I haven't slept for _days_, Quentin, Josh really hooked me up."

Quentin's eyes widen, and he reaches out with his other hand, steadying Eliot. "That's - that's really not good, Eliot. C'mon, let's go sit down."

"Listen to Q, Eliot," Julia advises, her eyes wide. "Come on, we'll sit down and we can just talk, okay?"

But Eliot frowns. "I don't want to talk to you," he says. He's looking at Quentin. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

Quentin sucks in a sharp breath, but pushes through the sudden pain in his chest. "Because you're scaring me, El, and I'm worried about you," he says. "Look, you don't have to talk to me, you can talk to Jules. But you really need to take a break."

"No," Eliot says, though he just sounds miserable now. "I have to stay here. I have a business to run."

"You've got the best employees in the city, they can take care of things for one night," Quentin coaxes. "Just - Just come sit down, please."

"No!" Eliot says again, more forcefully this time. He pulls away from Quentin and falls against the bar. "Just fuck off, Q, okay?"

Quentin doesn't move for a long moment, and then he takes a step back. "Okay," he whispers, barely audible over the noise from the other patrons. "Okay, I - " He glances at Julia, who nods and steps forward, giving Quentin room to make his way out from behind the bar, already reaching for his phone.

Quentin's dialling before he even leaves the bar. It takes Margo an age to answer, and when she does, she sounds pissed. "This better be good, Coldwater. Mama's got a big meeting in the morning."

"It's Eliot," Quentin blurts, the hand not holding his phone fisting in his hair. "He's - _fuck,_ Margo, he's really goddamn drunk, and I don't know what that was that he just did a line of off of the fucking bartop, but he's refusing to come with me and Jules. You... You need to come get him. Like, now."

"What?" Margo demands. "Why the fuck didn't you call me sooner?"

"Because we thought we could get him to go sit down, at least!" Quentin cries. "Margo, please - He's scaring us."

"I'm coming!" Margo snaps. "Jesus, do I have time to throw some pants on or do I have to walk in there naked?"

Quentin blows out a shaky breath. "Sorry, I just... He's almost as bad as he was after - " He takes a deep breath, forces himself to hold it for a second before he lets it out. "Sorry. I'll - I'll see you when you get here."

"Quentin," Margo says. "We have a portal in our apartment that leads to the back office. I'll be there in a few minutes. Now pussy up, go back inside, and deal with him until I get there."

It's a wonder Eliot's still upright by the time Quentin reaches the bar; he's listing against Julia's side, and he looks mere moments away from passing out. He manages to muster the energy to protest when Quentin approaches, but he's whiny and pathetic, and his heart isn't in it. Quentin hasn't seen him like this for years.

Still, Margo makes quick work of the situation once she arrives. She wipes the floor with the bar staff, threatens to deal with the new menu tomorrow, and somehow has Eliot's long frame bundled under her arm and through the portal in the office within minutes, only after making it clear to Quentin and Julia that she expects them to follow by more traditional methods.

It's dark when she lets them into the apartment, the only light a faint glow coming from the living room. Margo looks equal parts furious and terrified, something else Quentin hasn't seen for years. "He's in bed," she tells them, leading them into the kitchen. "Passed out almost as soon as I got him home. The come-down's going to be awful tomorrow." She sets her hands on her hips and glares at them. "What the hell happened?"

Quentin and Julia exchange worried looks. "We went to the Tut because we hadn't seen Eliot in days," Julia says. "I thought the menu looked weird, so we went to go ask Eliot about it, but he was already drunk. He was drinking as much as he was serving."

"And the drugs?" Margo demands.

"He told us to fuck off, and started drinking more," Quentin says without looking at Margo; he's staring at his hands, clenched together. "We didn't see the line on the counter until he was already doing it, and then he said Josh had given him so much he hadn't slept in days."

Margo grinds her teeth. "I'm going to eviscerate him," she snarls. "And when he's sober again, I'm going to slap Eliot silly. He's been clean for years. How did we miss this?"

"I don't know," Quentin says dully, leaning into Julia when she wraps an arm around his waist. "We haven't seen him a lot, but we just thought he was busy with the, y'know, regular bar stuff without you there."

"Well, I'm going to be there now," Margo says. "He can't be on his own, not for a while. This can't get as bad as it did after Mike."

Quentin nods, and Julia offers Margo a half-hearted smile. "If you need any help, just let us know," she says quietly. 

"Thanks," Margo says. "I think it's just going to be the two of us for a while."

* * *

Margo calls her boss to let her know that she needs to take care of a family emergency, and then rolls up her metaphorical sleeves and sets about taking care of Eliot as he comes down from his binge. Just as she’d predicted, the fallout isn’t pretty, but it’s nothing compared to the aftermath of Mike, so Margo grits her teeth and gets them both through it. It takes nearly two full days before Eliot’s truly coherent again, and when he wakes up that morning, Margo’s already settled herself by his side in the bed, a tray over her lap with breakfast for the two of them. “Good morning,” she says, far too cheerful for how early it is and for the sharpness of her grin. “You need to eat.”

Eliot only just keeps from retching. "Margo," he says thickly, "I don't think food is a good idea right now."

”Then drink some water,” Margo says mercilessly. “You haven’t eaten anything in two days, getting something into your stomach might help.”

Eliot glares at her through his limp curls, but he reaches for the glass of water Margo is offering him and takes a sip. "Is that how long it's been?" he asks. "Two days?"

”It’s been two days since I pried you off of the bar in the Tut and dragged your high-as-fuck ass back here, yes.” Margo takes a sip of her coffee, watches Eliot with a sharp gaze. “Want to tell me how long you’ve been tripping balls?”

Eliot stares at her. "...No?"

"Tough. You're going to tell me everything that's been going on with you," Margo says matter-of-factly. "Or I'm spiking the next drink with truth serum."

Eliot visibly deflates. "I don't know what you want me to say," he says. "I've been having a... rough time. I relapsed. I'm sorry."

"I just want to know why you didn't come talk to me," Margo says softly, shifting the tray to the nightstand so she can scoot down the bed and settle herself against Eliot's side. "You know I'll always make time for you, baby."

"I know," Eliot says. He looks so ashamed of himself. "I thought I was dealing."

"Obviously you weren't," Margo says, not unkindly, as she wraps a careful arm around Eliot's waist. "When Quentin called me and said, 'It's Eliot,' in that tone..." She sighs. "I thought the worst had happened, El. Took me right back to our second year."

Eliot's expression darkens. "Welcome," he says. "I've been here for a while."

"Are you planning on staying here?" Margo asks bluntly. 

Eliot sighs. "No," he says. "That wouldn't be fair to Quentin - or you. I am sorry for scaring you."

Margo hugs Eliot closer. "You're my _family,_ El. I just want to see you happy. And you're _not _when you're like this."

"I know," Eliot says. "I'm not going to do it again."

"Good," Margo says fiercely. "And you're also not going to go looking for a magic bottle, right?"

Eliot winces. "The thought had occurred to me, but no."

Margo nods, but apparently she's still not satisfied. "And what about Quentin?"

"What about him?" Eliot asks.

"Are you going to talk to him at all?"

"It's not like I've been ghosting him," Eliot says. "We still talk. When we have to."

Margo raises an eyebrow. "You used to talk all the time, even before you two tripped into bed."

Eliot shrugs. "Things are a little different now."

Margo sighs. "I know they are. I still haven't forgiven Quentin for how he treated you, and I think he should grovel a bit more before _you _forgive him."

"You know he won't," Eliot says. "It doesn't matter. It's not his fault."

”He could’ve handled that better,” Margo says, scowling. “Instead of - He should’ve _talked_ to you. Or written it out in a letter.”

"Well, he didn't," Eliot says, almost snaps. "Really, Bambi, it doesn't matter."

Margo opens her mouth to continue arguing but then closes it again and rolls her eyes. "If you say so. Just - I just worry about you. I love you, you know?"

Eliot somehow finds it in himself to smile. "I know," he says. "I love you too, Bambi."

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Quentin keeps in touch with Margo, and he sees Eliot in the halls of their apartment building. It’s the only reason he knows that Eliot is doing better, seeing it for himself and hearing it from Margo. His course responsibilities have finally slowed down, allowing him more opportunities to work on his manuscript, which he takes full advantage of. Quentin had thought that it was a good idea, telling Eliot how he’d felt through Jason and Hale, but obviously that hadn’t been his brightest idea.

This probably isn’t, either, but Quentin can’t bring himself to try to talk to Eliot about this face-to-face, so this is all he really has to work with.

Late nights at his desk create pages upon pages of manuscript, and by the time he finally finishes it, Quentin feels... raw. Drained. It’s all there on the page, now; everything he’s felt, everything he’s thought and wondered and _wanted_ \- 

Quentin transfers a copy of the file to a USB stick and takes it downstairs. His suitcase is packed and sitting beside him when he knocks on the door to Margo and Eliot’s apartment, and when Margo answers the door, Quentin’s equal parts relieved and nervous. “Hey,” he says, fishing the USB stick out of his pocket. “I, uh - It’s Thanksgiving break for Columbia, I’m heading out to my grandparents’ for the holiday. But I wanted to give this to you and Eliot before I left.”

Margo regards him through narrowed eyes. "What is it?" she asks.

”The rest of the manuscript.” Quentin meets Margo’s gaze, but it clearly takes some effort. 

Margo's surprise shows on her face. "You finished it?"

”Yeah,” Quentin says, nodding. “Things slowed down, and I... had a lot of motivation. This is still just the first draft, but. Yeah, it’s done.”

Margo purses her lips. "I want you to know that I'll be reading this before I decide to give it to him."

Quentin’s smile is rueful. “I figured. Just - Read the whole thing before you pass judgment, alright? I’ll talk to you guys when I get back from Ridgewood.”

"All right," Margo says. "Have a safe trip, Q."

Quentin’s smile softens. “Have a good weekend,” he returns, leaning over to grab the handle of his suitcase before he leaves.

* * *

Margo reads the whole thing twice before she gives it to Eliot, folds the drive into his hand and squeezes his fingers tight around it. "You need to read this," she says. "I mean it. Every word, El."

It's one of the hardest things Eliot has ever done - but he trusts Margo, so he does it anyway. And Quentin has always had a way with words; it's not a chore to read in any way except for how honest it is, uncomfortably so. Eliot understands more about Quentin's thoughts and feelings, hopes and fears and desires, than he ever has before - and he hates it. He hates it because he wants to kill him.

Once he's reached a decision, it takes him ten minutes to pack a bag and open a portal - because however this ends, he isn't going to be able to face coming home for a few days - and then he's ready. "Margo!" he calls. "I'm going out!"

"I love and support you!" Margo calls back from the other room. "Don't actually punch him!"

"No promises," Eliot mutters under his breath. He steps through the portal.

* * *

Quentin's spent the past two days in a bit of an anxious fog, so he doesn't think anything of it when Aunt Carol calls into the kitchen that there's someone at the door for him. Really, he should have expected it would be Eliot or Margo, so he has no excuse for what comes out of his mouth when he sees Eliot standing on the front porch, expression unreadable. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," Eliot says. "You probably don't want to do it here."

”Uh, sure,” Quentin says, still trying to take in the fact that Eliot is _here._ He steps back into the house to throw his shoes and a jacket on, texts his mom to let her and his family know that he’s running an errand with a friend, and then steps back onto the porch. “There’s a little hiking path just off the road here, if you want to use that?”

Eliot stuffs his hands into his pockets and ducks his head, something that's far more in character for Quentin than Eliot. "Lead the way."

Quentin does, and the two of them walk in silence broken only by the crunching of leaves beneath their feet as they step off of the road and start following the path. They walk until the road can’t be seen any more, and then Quentin finally ventures, “I... didn’t think you knew where my grandparents lived.”

"I'm a magician," Eliot says flatly.

”Right,” Quentin says, wincing. “Yeah, that was - Why are you here? You said you needed to talk to me?”

"Yeah." Eliot takes a deep, fortifying breath. "I read your manuscript. Start to finish."

Quentin trips over a branch in the path. “Oh,” he says dumbly. “Uh. What did you think?”

"It's brilliant," Eliot says, "but you already know that." He sighs. "Look, Q, I'm not very good at the whole emotion thing, that's always been your bag, so I'm just going to say it. What the actual fuck is wrong with you?"

This time, Quentin comes to an abrupt stop. “What?”

Eliot stops, too. "You heard me," he says. "Are you actually trying to screw with me? Because that's not like you, Quentin, and it's cruel."

“No, I’m - _What?_” Quentin knows his confusion is clear on his face. “I’m not trying to screw with you, El. Kinda the opposite, actually? I was trying to clear things up.”

"How the hell does that clear anything up?" Eliot demands. "Talk about mixed messages!"

”Mixed messages?” Quentin splutters. “How the hell was that a _mixed_ message?”

"Oh, I don't know, Quentin," Eliot says, a dangerous edge in his voice now. "You rewrote everything that happened that year, including Mike. You made him into this fantastical monster to make what he really did to me fit into your world, but you still wrote it like you gave a shit. And then you threw me into the middle of you and Margo, which, _thanks_ for telling me you two slept together by including it in your fucking book, and wrote it like I singlehandedly ruined your fucking relationship with Alice. And then you _finished_ the book like you were writing me a goddamn love letter! And that doesn't even begin to touch on what's been happening in the real world!"

Quentin blinks, rocking back on his heels; Eliot's summarization isn't _inaccurate,_ but it still feels like Quentin is missing a piece of the puzzle, something that will help him understand why Eliot came all the way out here, why he’s so pissed. "'What's been happening in the real world'?" he echoes. "What the hell does that mean?"

Eliot explodes. "It means that you broke up with me by making me the villain of your epic romance with Alice, and then acted like you had no idea why I couldn't stand the sight of you!"

Quentin's jaw drops. "Wait, wait, wait - _Broke up _with you?" he demands. "I didn't fucking break up with you, I was trying to establish some goddamn boundaries to keep myself sane!"

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Quentin blows out a breath that fogs in the air between them, reaches up to run his fingers through his hair. "It means - _Fuck,_ El, it means that I _know _you, and you don't - you don't look at sex like it's... Like it has to _mean _something. I mean, for fuck's sake, how many guys _did _you fuck with Margo in Brakebills? Because I remember seeing a _lot _of them coming out of both of your rooms, and that's not counting everyone else you hooked up with." Quentin's other hand joins the first, pushing his hair back before he clasps his hands behind his neck, a nervous tic that provides some grounding pressure against the back of his neck as he looks at Eliot more than a little desperately. "But I know you, and - Your attitude about sex doesn't mean that us sleeping together meant the same thing to you that it did to me, and I was _fine _with that, but you kept acting like we were in a goddamn _relationship _and it was messing with my head!"

Eliot just stares at him for the longest moment. "Okay," he says, "okay, no, that's-- that is _not_ what happened."

"Then what the fuck _did _happen?" Quentin cries. 

"What happened is that _I_ know _you_," Eliot says. "I've wanted you since the day we met and I know you've wanted me, too - but I also know that sex means so much more to you than it does to me, so I didn't let it happen! The last thing I wanted was to hurt you, especially after everything that happened that year. I was a fucking mess, and so were you. But when I woke up next to you that morning, knowing what had happened and what it meant to you, I knew I couldn't just shrug it off like it meant nothing. It meant _everything_."

Quentin knows he’s gaping like a fish as he struggles to reconcile what Eliot’s just told him with what he’d thought for the past few months. “So, you - What? You were acting like we were in a relationship because you thought we were?”

"Yes," Eliot says. His voice is small, now, but he makes himself hold Quentin's gaze. "I know you, Q. You don't fuck someone unless you're ready to declare your undying love for them. I should've known that wouldn't apply to me, right?"

”_No,_ that - Fuck, Eliot.” Quentin has to close his eyes, bury his face in his hands and take several deep breaths before he can get his next words out without choking on the emotion behind them. “It applies to you more than anyone else. I just... That’s how I work, but it’s not how _you_ work, and I - _Fuck._”

Eliot shakes his head, helpless to understand. "Then why?" he asks. "Why use the book to tell me you fucked Margo that year _and_ that fucking me was a mistake?"

Quentin takes another deep breath, makes himself look at Eliot. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he says first, because that’s the most important thing. “It was - It was one of the best decisions of my life, but I was working under the impression that you were just... adding another layer to our friendship, like what you have with Margo. But then I realized you weren’t acting like that, you were acting like we were _together_, and I couldn’t take that if it wasn’t true.” Quentin’s expression turns pleading, begging Eliot to understand. “But I couldn’t make myself just _ask_ you what was going on, so I - I did the only thing I could think of. It... It wasn’t meant to come off as a mistake, it was supposed to just be - It was supposed to just be Hale and Jason fucking each other and trying to find a way to stay friends after it complicated things, because they weren’t fucking each other to get together.”

"And what about after?" Eliot asks, like he'd really rather stop himself from speaking but he can't quite manage it. "The rest of the book reads like they're falling in love."

”Because they are,” Quentin whispers, his gaze dropping to the forest floor, arms wrapped around himself. “That part... The emotions are based on a true story. For Jason, at least.”

Eliot can't take it anymore. His heart in his mouth, he steps up to Quentin and grasps him gently by the elbows. "Q," he breathes, "how can you not see how much I love you?"

Quentin’s head snaps up fast enough that he swears he hears something crack. “You - _What?_” he chokes out.

Eliot gives him a tentative smile. "If I was just in it for the sex, it would have happened years ago," he says. "But you're too important to me for that. I couldn't go near you until I was ready."

Quentin searches Eliot's expression frantically. "You love me?" he whispers. "Like, you're _in _love with me? Because that can be a really fine line."

"I crossed it a long time ago," Eliot admits. "It scares the shit out of me, honestly, but yes. I'm _in_ love with you."

Quentin searches his gaze for another long moment before his frantic expression finally eases into something softer, more... awed. "You - I..." Quentin swallows, tries again. "I'm in love with you, too," he confesses. "Scares me, too, but. I am. And I don't - I don't remember when I crossed that line."

Eliot laughs, but it's wet. "Then can we get on the same page, please?" he asks. "I don't want meaningless sex or some friends with benefits arrangement. I want _you_."

Quentin reaches up, brushes a bit of Eliot's hair back from his forehead. The touch is tentative, like he still can't quite believe it's allowed. "I want you, too," he confesses. "Every part of you. And I want it to mean _everything, _to both of us."

"It will," Eliot promises. "It does."

Quentin finally smiles, just a small thing, but his touch is more confident this time when he reaches up and curves his hand around the side of Eliot's neck, stepping forward so that they're pressed together, chest to chest. "Okay," he says softly, letting his other hand fall to rest on Eliot's waist. "That - That sounds really good."

"Q," Eliot murmurs, his own hands coming up to cradle Quentin's face. A breath passes between them, another - and they're kissing.

Quentin muffles a noise that... Well, he's not sure if it's frantic or a sob, but it's there nonetheless as he presses himself closer, slides his hand up to wind Eliot's hair around his fingers, wraps his arm around Eliot's waist. "_Fuck, _I've missed you," he breathes when they finally part for air. 

"I know," Eliot assures him. "I've missed you, too. But not anymore, okay? We need to communicate."

"We will," Quentin swears. "No more assuming things."

"No more talking in circles around what we actually need to say." Eliot smiles, kisses Quentin again. "But you'll probably have to miss me for a little longer."

"What? Why?"

Eliot laughs. "I've just barged in on your Thanksgiving."

"Oh." Quentin frowns. "You could stay?"

"Oh," Eliot says, "no, I don't want to impose."

Quentin rolls his eyes. "We've always got way too much food," he says. "And... everyone may have been wondering why I've been so... 'mopey.'"

Eliot raises an eyebrow. "What have you told them?"

"That I was working through some things," Quentin says sheepishly. "Aunt Debbie guessed it was boy things, I... didn't correct her."

Eliot huffs a soft laugh. "Still," he says, "this is your time to spend with your family. I didn't have any plans besides watching TV with Margo, but if they don't want me there that's fine."

"El," Quentin says softly, reaching for Eliot's hand and squeezing before tangling their fingers together, "they'd be delighted. They've been pestering me to introduce you and Margo for the past year."

Eliot capitulates with a sigh. "All right," he says. "Then maybe we should get out of the cold?"

Quentin smiles, his grip tightening on Eliot's hand as he leans in for another kiss. "Let's go."

* * *

Quentin's family welcome Eliot with open arms, and they have a perfectly pleasant Thanksgiving together. Eliot met them all briefly a couple of years ago at Ted's funeral, and Quentin's mother is especially delighted, insisting that she knew just from the way Eliot hadn't left Quentin's side all day that they were going to get together. They spend the night in the guest bedroom, the next day with Quentin's grandparents, and make arrangements to go home the following afternoon. It's very close to a perfect weekend, all told.

They leave with hugs all around and promises from Quentin that he'll bring his _handsome young man_ back for another visit soon. Eliot opens another portal to his apartment once they're far enough away - and they walk right into what seems to be some sort of meeting. Margo, Julia and Alice are all gathered around the coffee table deep in conversation. They look up, startled, at Eliot's and Quentin's appearance, and Julia frowns.

"Did you just... get back together?"

Quentin blinks. "Yes. What were you - are those _notes?_"

"We've been busy," Margo says. "We've decided we've had enough of your bullshit."

Alice looks at the two of them with a raised eyebrow. "But it looks like we aren't the only ones."

Quentin flushes, conscious of his hand in Eliot's. "Yeah, well. We talked."

"As in fucked?" Margo asks, suspicious.

Eliot rolls his eyes. "No," he says, "we did not fuck in his grandparents' guest room. We talked."

"And?" Margo demands.

"_And_," Eliot says, "we're good. It was all a huge misunderstanding, we were both being morons, we're now both on the same page and we're... together."

Julia actually cheers.

Quentin flushes as Alice smiles, closing her notebook. "Good," she says, satisfied. "Because frankly, you were both being ridiculous."

"Yeah, we figured that out," Quentin says, rolling his eyes. "Does this mean we can use all of that wine to celebrate instead?"

"Absolutely fucking not," Margo snaps, glaring. "You didn't tell me about any of this. Am I not your best fucking friend, asshole?"

Eliot releases Quentin's hand so he can go to her. "Of course you are," he soothes, wrapping her up in his arms and tucking her head against his chest. "I just wanted to tell you in person. The second best thing in my life just happened - I couldn't tell the first best thing about it over text."

"I guess," Margo allows grudgingly. "I'm still the best thing though."

"The very best," Eliot promises. He strokes her hair. "I love you the most."

Margo sniffles. "Okay. Good."

Quentin laughs softly, settling himself next to Julia and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I'd be jealous of them if I didn't have you," he says, squeezing Julia tightly. "But if I knew you were planning an intervention..."

"You two _still _wouldn't have said anything," Alice laughs. 

Julia grins. "I'm so happy for you," she says. "Welcome to the family, El."

Eliot turns his head to smile at her. "Thanks, Wicker."

* * *

"Has anyone heard from Q?" Eliot asks, setting a tray of drinks down and sliding into his seat. "I thought he'd be here by the time I got off."

"Who cares where your boyfriend is?" Margo complains. "Shots shots shots shots!"

Eliot obligingly starts handing out the shots. "We really should start charging you guys," he muses.

"But then we'd have to start charging ourselves," Margo pouts.

Eliot smiles around the straw in his mocktail. "Daddy doesn't drink anymore."

"You're still drinking some of your stock with those mocktails," Alice points out with a laugh while Julia raises her own now-empty shot glass in agreement. 

"Q got held up with a student who missed a big presentation because her doctor is an ignorant ass who misdiagnosed appendicitis as period cramps," she says. "He's letting her give him the presentation solo so she isn't missing a chunk of her grade."

Eliot's eyes go all gooey. "He's so cute."

"Oh my _god_," Margo groans.

"Why do I always end up threatening to throw up when we come here?" Penny complains to no one in particular. "You two are disgusting."

Kady laughs and throws an arm around Penny's shoulders. "They are nauseatingly adorable," she agrees, "but it's just worse for you because you're psychic. Drink up, it'll get better."

"I don't think that's how that works," Alice starts, but Penny's already downed his shot and is reaching for another, so she just sighs and shakes her head. 

Eliot's phone buzzes in his pocket; when he checks it, he sees he has a text message from Quentin. **Leaving campus now, be at the Tut in 15 depending on traffic. Everyone drunk yet?**

**Getting there <3** Eliot sends back, and then announces, "Q's on his way."

A small cheer goes up, and Eliot's phone buzzes again. **Try to keep them a little sober; I've got a surprise ;) see you soon babe <3 **

Eliot does his best to do as Quentin asks; it helps when he tells their friends that Quentin’s bringing a surprise. Curiosity wins out over the desire to get smashed, and by the time Quentin finally arrives, his bag slung over one shoulder, no one is anything more than tipsy. “Hey,” he says, sliding into the seat next to Eliot, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for waiting.”

"Hey love," Eliot says, smiling warmly. Penny gags.

"Don't thank us yet," Margo says darkly. "This surprise better be good."

Quentin grins, completely unbothered by Margo's grumbling. "It's very good," he assures them, digging through his bag and making a triumphant noise when he finds what he's looking for. "This arrived at my office today," he announces, sliding a rectangular parcel onto the tabletop. 

"Is that - ?" Alice gasps as Julia snatches it out from under Kady's curious fingers. Quentin had taped the paper shut around the book once more for his dramatic reveal, and Julia tears through it easily. 

"It _is!_" she squeals, flipping the book around so the rest of the table can see the cover. "Q! It's your book!"

"It's my book," Quentin agrees with a laugh, a pleased flush putting color high on his cheeks as he leans into Eliot. "That's the advance copy."

Eliot gets his hand around Quentin's neck and pulls him in for a hard kiss. "I'm so proud of you, darling."

Quentin goes easily into the kiss, winding his arm around Eliot's waist. "It's been nerve-wracking, waiting to hear back from the editor and publisher. But once that copy is approved, the book will go to print for real."

"And then you'll finally be a real life author," Eliot finishes, "profiting from the drama of your friends' lives and conversations you overhear on the bus." He's practically glowing with pride.

Penny gags again. "Do they always do that?"

"Yes," Julia says, grinning, as she throws her arms around Quentin, dragging him just far enough away from Eliot to smack a noisy kiss to his cheek. "We're all so _proud _of you, Q. I'm going to be the first in line at your first signing, I just want you to know that."

"Only because I'll be right beside you," Eliot coos, mostly to see Penny's face.

Quentin's face looks like a mottled tomato, but the smile he aims at Eliot is soft and fond, and Penny mimes throwing up onto the floor next to them, only stopping when Kady hauls him upright, laughing. "You know you and I will be right behind her, assuming Alice doesn't beat us there."

"What makes you think _I _won't be standing right next to Julia?" Alice asks, winding an arm around Julia's waist and tucking herself against a suddenly bright-red Julia's side. 

Eliot's eyes widen. "This is new."

Margo's expression has turned interested, and Quentin is muffling a snicker that abruptly turns into a yelp when Julia pinches the side of his neck. "It's really not," she says, sitting up and clearly trying to pretend that everyone's attention isn't flustering her. "Alice is just fucking with you, Penny."

Penny groans. "If it's just going to be 'pick on the psychic' day, I'm leaving," he grumps, sliding out of the booth and making his way to the bar. Kady shakes her head and goes after him with a wink in Julia and Alice's direction. 

Margo makes a disappointed noise. "That's not nearly as interesting," she complains before giving Quentin a smile. "Congratulations, baby Q. Here's to all your hard work." She waits until they've all lifted their glasses before she adds, "I'm making your suits for your interviews, though."

Quentin barely manages to avoid choking on his drink, takes the napkin Eliot hands him to clean up what he'd spit onto the table. "Of course you are," he says, grinning. "I wouldn't dream of going to anyone else."

Alice, who has straightened in her seat, lifts her glass again as Penny and Kady return to the table. "To your future success, Quentin," she says, everyone else echoing the toast. 

Quentin's grinning wide enough to hurt. "To _all _of our success."

"But especially to yours, tonight," Eliot says. "You've earned this, my love."

For once, Penny doesn’t even roll his eyes.


End file.
